The OWFI conference was busy, exciting, and fun. I even place in one of the contest categories. I took second place with my short un-rhymed poem "The Job."

Hands, streaming blood red,
Wield a razor sharp knife
Plunging deep into soft flesh,
Spraying crimson drops
Over walls, cabinets, sinks.
Soon, the bits and pieces,
Stuffed into containers,
Will be hidden away.
I sit exhausted, wanting my bed,
Vowing never to use my blade again.
Thankfully, the job is finished.
I refuse to pickle beets any more,
At least until another crop’s encore.

Award-winning author Dusty Richards presents my award to me