When I’m walking down the street, my bracelets jingle jangle,
executing dialogues—bangle against bangle.
Calling up to earrings that answer as they dangle,
warning errant necklaces not to twist and strangle.
Every little moving piece—every single spangle
creates a cacophony that’s more than I can wrangle.
Just a little peace and quiet’s all I hope to wangle
as, thrown into my jewelry box, they’re silenced by the tangle.
They’re driven by their fear that their proximity will mangle
if they even try to move to aim for a new angle.
The prompt today is jangle.