Well-intentioned stranger Eyeing me limp through HEB Why would you ask If I stepped on a nail? How do you know
I wallow in my sadness As it pools up It has not swallowed me Who floats above its surface This surface
The teenage rebels All fall in line Be they hippies Goths, rockers or skaters Moving from one mould
If food is poetry The flavors The smells Singing in harmony Is poetry food?
The passive-aggressive Guilt trip Is a weak tool For your purpose The sensitive
Scratchy plaid blanket Red with yellow stripes Hot and itchy underneath Claustrophobia strikes Purple and blue prisms
Hillary’s beautiful Rose Bumpy’s favorite princess My mini-me, my little lion Cute button nose Framed by red hair
Nothing makes people flee Like reading them poetry They value it in theory But please don’t make them read Surprise me with your verse
The E’s squeak by The I’s are too excited The U’s come after Q But the A’s and the O’s They flow
Does the world need Another book? Another poem? I add one more to the pile To be left alone
Who am I? I am me When did I Become me? As I recall
Left on a leash Is no way to live He disappeared I like to imagine He’s running in a field
Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses
Beautiful legs The right shape and curve Olive color without the green That tans and doesn’t burn Until you see
An idea In my head Falls flat On paper Read it