Poetry month?

I never knew it was poetry month. I am not a poet, anymore.

Let’s see… Are roses still red? Violets blue? Here is an impromptu prose poem.

Roses are burnt orange because of gasoline being five hundred dollars a gallon and me being quite wealthy. It probably isn’t healthy burning roses with gasoline but I was cold. It is unseasonably warm here in Siberia. I have been exiled by the POTUS. He is Russian, POTUS. That stands for president of the us. I don’t know what that means. They only teach communism here in the states now. Charlie Brown is red and the sky is green and grass is blue but not in Kentucky.

Bonus? Bonus.