Read laugh, scowl, choke, hate, enjoy... whatever... but here's my poem.
Just After
“spiteful koans”
He said
Buttoning trousers
Stumbling towards an open door
“What did you say?”
she asked
Finger knuckle deep in nostril
“Nothing”
He replied
Thinking – Nothing that
a cigarette
and
a train ride through a tunnel
wouldn’t cure.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
There aint bad poetry
in Seventh-Heaven, dear.
Follow us Upstairs.
-GBY
Post a Comment