artfling
I am not a cowboy. Oh, I'd love to be one, but I can't ride, I can't sing, and I can't rope. Cows just look at me and don't even care. I can't shoot either. I wish I could, but my finger goes all shaky on the trigger. But I'm me.
I did this word already. Don't they give us a new one each time? Huh--interesting. I get to think up something entirely new. Panel...panel...it rhymes with flannel, that's one thing. I'll have to remember that for future poetry.
I had paneling on my bedroom in Anza, California. They were ugly, so we painted them pink. That's how my room became pink and green. They have been ever since.
I went to the panel expecting to see a girl, but instead an old lady peered back from the other side. She was missing a single front tooth. But she seemed embarrassed by it and covered it with her right hand.