The Dana Bug Crooked Line Poetry Bus

Riding up to save the day on her white steed, Dana Bug has set the price of a Poetry Bus ticket as 'Write a poem that begins with the words "I am a crooked line"' (so many speech marks) Somewhat shamefacedly, I offer this effort. Sorry, miss, the dog ate the first one. Some of the more erudite passengers may be found here

The life and death of a crooked line

I am a crooked line,
whichever way you view me.
Creation was divine –
Assumpta Farrell drew me.

Within this pristine copy*
from graphite she has made me
and, though I may be sloppy,
with pride she has displayed me.

But wait! I watch her face.
There’s something ‘bout me jangles.
I’m somewhat out of place
among these clean right angles.

The fact that I’m skew-whiff
has certainly nonplussed her.
She’s now debating if
I’m going to pass muster.

I hear her mutter ‘Drat!’
She’s frowning at the pencil
and, yes, regretting that
she didn’t use the stencil.

Most lines upon this page
were crafted with distinction.
They’ll last into old age
but me, I face extinction.

You’d really wonder why
they’re straight as any arrow,
while crooked lines like I
fall off the straight and narrow.

Life, you may have thought,
drains through your hands like water.
You say that life is short
but mine is even shorter.

Rubbed out, stunned and dazed,
I offer no resistance.
Too crooked, I’m erased
back into non-exis......

* exercise book