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.