Monday, June 30, 2014

Poem Potpourri

Dredging the archives, intermittently  contributing to them.

Cheese Without Crackers

I am on herb
and take a long look
at a man on the curb
reading a book.

I take a long look.
A greasy barfly
reading a book
propped up on in his thigh.

A greasy barfly
with grey, withered hands
propped up on his thigh.
It all seems so planned.

Grey withered hands
much older than mine.
It all seems so planned
when he looks in my eyes.

Much older than mine,
his frayed coat and hair,
but when he looks in my eyes
I continue to stare.

His frayed coat and hair,
and eyes with no clarity.
I continue to stare
at our similarity.

Eyes with no clarity,
lost and forlorn.
Our similarity
from when we were born.

Lost and forlorn
like cheese without crackers.
From when we were born
we’ve always been slackers.

Cheese without crackers.
I toss him some cheddar,
slacker to slacker,
and begin to feel better.

I toss him some cheddar,
this man on the curb.
I begin to feel better.
I am on herb.

No comments:

Post a Comment