Knock me over the first time,
the dust, that had settled & grouped
together into bunnies on the floor
will clump together, in an airborne cloud.
I'll dust myself off, having to be
acquainted with them & go on about my day.
Knock me over a second time,
my rear end will become a spring.
The contact between the butt & floor would only last seconds.
Being temporarily airborne &
placed back into my original stance.
I will not, say anything, but
my mind's nerves
mine as well said it for me
having gone to the shooting rang,
shooting off witticisms
like spare bullets.
Knock me over a third time,
you'll be traveling down
beside me.
Not giving you the time
to process, but to acknowledge
the sense of second hand
Deja vu that is taking place before you.
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