George Held


You led us in a daisy chain
around the giant oak
outside our kindergarten
and back inside distributed
warm, souring milk
or tinny tomato juice
and then cajoled us
onto our mats and traipsed
among us strewing cardboard
flower petals in your guise
as The Sandman
till we drowsed off
on the soft cork floor
under your tipsy gaze.

George Held has been writing one-sentence poems since he read Robert Frost’s great one-sentence sonnet “The Silken Tent” some decades ago.