John Steinbeck
Learn more about other poetry terms
I was caught between a rock and a hard place. The ancient cliché was literal. I was in the dust storm and the moon seemed tiny. 18 was the number and it seemed it would stay that way. 22 was the catch; I was ready for release.
When pigs can fly
They say
They say all sorts of things
They say pigs don't have wings
Impossibilities are everywhere
So imagine when they stand and stare
A pig
With wings
