a cliché-a-day is how to pay the piper

chair in front of filled bookshelves
ignorance is free
while truth costs 30 silver pence

April showers bring only sludge
that slowly birth the sun’s defense

winter cooks hibernate
their tarnished snores fill the air

ungreased wheels forget to squeak
while crowbars pry up penny nails

he burrows deep beneath the roots 
and grants the cat his flapping tongue

questions hide from prying eyes
and books come in one color

the milk’s so thick it will not spill
the hotcakes mold and shrivel

with hair piled high, she sits alone
trapped by her fun-house image

as slow as eyes snared by insomnia
find your strength in sameness

you only need a single hand
to make our circle straighten

Day 13’s NaPoWriMo challenge asked us to play with “turning cliché’s on their head.”

Voila . . . hope it works!