Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.145.176.168

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Funny the things that stick with you
like gum beneath the table
as the years go by.
My brains goes as far back as three solar circuits;
big bro put the Wonder bread in the microwave
(package and all) --- sparks went a'flying.
And poor Mother, what would she say,
when the whole house burnt away?
(corner time for sure)

And back then, turning the big "one oh"
was a big deal --- it's all the kids talked about.
Mother would make me PB&Js
(crust ON --- she weren't no fool)
And that little pat on the head used to make me giddy:
a reward for my maturity,
eating all the greens --- every bit.

But by thirteen I was quite done with it.
I'll make my own lunch, thank you very much
(sure you know that's a lie,
teens are notorious for their laziness)
But putting Dijon and turkey
between two slices of Dave's Killer Good Seed,
you think you got it made
with all of life figured out.

And speaking of "seed" ... what the hell?
Shouldn't I have my own runts by now,
running baby cheetah-like between my legs,
with a wifie to burn the toast on my way to work
(or is that just stereotypical nonsense?)

Perhaps by the time I'm thirty
being a spiritual loner like Paul won't be so bad;
spreading the good news when I can,
but I lack the humility:
a wheat by words,
a tare by actions.

And maybe I won't make it to my winter years.
But if that happens I won't waste one slice of forever
moping about time lost.
Rather I'll indulge in the True Wonder Bread
with the Man Upstairs -
without the fluff - but add the glow
and guaranteed to last eternity.

Literally.



PS: Not actually a new one, but something I wrote six-ish years ago.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required