I am the shape of Captain Hook's arm
And a nostalgic Christmas charm.
In duplicity, I make a heart.
I'm a kitschy medium for art,
But to performers, I might cause alarm.
I sometimes have a wooden spine.
I resemble a barber's sign.
Jimmy Smits was heir to me.
I'm a cactus and a tree
And a servant for those who are blind.
I can be read, played, shot and licked.
I'd make a festive swizzle stick.
I'm an extra leg with a rubber foot
And a common bit of stocking loot
Dropped in by jolly old St. Nick.
I go up, then I come down.
I was made to curb sound.
I'm an alternative source of fuel.
You'll see me 'round at the tide of Yule,
But a game is my hometown.
I was the second known man on earth.
I conjure up rivalry and mirth.
I vary in color, species and size.
I'm a toothsome gem a small child espies.
Who else would appreciate my worth?
I alternate between hot and cold.
I am more than 300 years old.
A prop for tap,
I'm hard to snap.
An Aussie barkeep was once my role.
I'm the theme of a prosaic prayer.
I have a certain musical flair.
I'm the suffix of a violent storm,
But hang around in places that are warm,
Where I masquerade as a basket-chair.
I'm the crook of sheep-herding men,
And a renowned cinematic citizen,
Who just longed for his sled.
I'm an incomplete zed,
And hint at the blood shed for sin.
Unpublished Work © Heather K. Walls
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