You sat out in the courtyard
bandana and a frown.
I must admit deception
‘I learn ze English, yes? ‘
You dropped your Yeats and giggled
I loved you, I confess.
We sat in that old Lincoln
on dimly lit black streets
you did undo my buttons
there on the bucket seats.
I was a clumsy student
of flesh anatomy.
Hands on was mandatory
for you and, now, for me.
I’ve never quite forgotten
my Peg from Lincolntown
and see her in my wildest dreams
dressed in a see-through gown.
rings the wall-mount telephonehubby wants to pick a bone.Woman yells leave me alonekeep to yourself your tiny bone.It never was what I expectedit is the reason I defected.Hubby looks at his humdingerit is bigger than a finger.Tells his mate that life is tough,girls can never get enough.
down from the shed of Mr. Trout.It guarded there with all its sensestwo rather big Mercedes Benzes.One day a thief arrived and pickedthe padlock, but it never clickedthat he could be the cat’s pajamaswithout the usual ugly dramas.Because he was a padlock thiefit brought a certain great reliefto Mister Jeddediah Stockwho had to buy another…
she’ll wait and think,consider what to say,to me this meansshe’ll never ever winkbut there be flowersin the month of May.
It was, I say, for sure, your turneach post is capable to earna prompt and relevant replythat is, unless you’re slow and shy!A poem was dispatched to youmeanwhile, nearby, Australia Zooa friend while diving died at seait shattered many, also me.So, write, sweet girl, you don’t offendI always have an ear to lend.I can’t take…
so, after rolling out of bedat 5, I’d start the show.A careful fire now, to burnthe boards, dismantled, one by one.I use the tractor – push and turn,support beams fall – I’m having fun.When suddenly my front wheels stickdeep in the ground, I try reverse.I may, if this fails, have to dig,so now I start…
namely a basin of foul smellingregurgitate, there is no tellingwhat someone sees in poetryfor me it’s what the gods decreesomewhere the talent lies and sleepsuntil the time comes where he keepsit under wraps no longer, hiddenand out it comes, at times unbidden.Poetic skills are not for allsome do prefer the shopping Mallbut those who can…
