Do all poems have to rhyme?
“Do all poems have to rhyme?”
I asked the city park mime.
But he was silently trapped in his box,
Thankfully, stuck there without a fox.
At least, not one that I could see—
though one could be there invisibly.
The mime was no help to me at all
as he felt around the pretend box’s wall.
I couldn’t help him in his predicament—
but maybe his box had an exit in its basement?
Suddenly, the mime’s eyes opened wide,
as surely an idea sparked inside.
He bent, then held up an invisible item,
apparently found in the box’s chasm.
He motioned as with a key into a lock,
somewhere placed on this invisible box.
Maybe that’s an answer to my mystery?
To use an invisible key
on invisible locks,
to think in and outside the box,
to not create my own roadblocks,
to sing my own song on the jukebox?