Tickle (for Egon Frank)

Like a leaf

That falls upon

My shoulder on

It’s way to

The forests floor

Or a snowflake

That lands upon

My tongue before

Disappearing there or

A bubble whose

Surface shimmers a

Rainbow before delicately

Popping or even

Like that one

Old stale joke

That makes me

Spit out my

Drink before I

Erupt in laughter

I enjoy most

In life being

Tickled a tickle

To me is

Like the finger

Of God on

My ribs reminding

Me that despite

Everything else I

Am still here