Transport
In the frying pan
On the stove
I found my love
And me naked.
Chopped onions
Fell on our heads
And made us cry.
It's like a parade,
I told her, confetti
When some guy
Reaches the moon.
"Means of transport,"
She replied obscurely
While we fried.
"Means of transport!"
Charles Simic.
Halitosis
He coughed
I watched and knew
Inhaling any of his breath
Would be fatal
From his depths
He dredged disgusting liquors
And propelled them
In a supersonic bullet
To the street.
This was a moan universal
In his repulsiveness
Not even one stitch
Of his clothing endeared him.
WRM
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Glad Hal Itosis is not a friend...
Secrets.
There are secrets no one knows,
Which thud in the chest in the middle of the night,
Demanding to be set free;
Unspoken fears and hopes, so fragile they would shatter
At the merest mention of their name.
There are secrets which everyone knows,
Softly echoed by friends, confided by colleagues,
"Strictly confidential",
"Taken as said " hypochrises,
Which grow in truth with each whispered warning not to tell;
Of origin unknown and veracity unquestioned,
A rumour here, a suggestion there, Verified by repetition and turned into fact;
Secret only from their subject,
Ignorant of their content,
An innocence maligned.
j
Post a Comment