I’m an old man farting poetry,
most times leaving merely
an unsightly brown-green
bull-shit stain
inside my whitey-tighties.
But-
Once in a great while,
I get it right,
the poem punching with the force
of a well focused fist
on the point of the chin,
leaving a reader on his ass,
a “be-back-in-an-hour” sign
flashing across his forehead,
the poem-stench filling
his reeking, word-wrecked world
with the potent perfume of clarity.
I love this! Just found your blog via Facebook. Will have to share with my dad.
thanks! enjoy!! Are we FB friends?
I think we were FB friends at one point…sent you an email last night. (It’s Cori Litchfield by the way.)