A Butt Tuba
Become a
Premium Member
and post notes and photos about your poem like Emile Pinet.
Someone on the subway’s playing a butt tuba,
whoever this boob is, his flagellant notes stink.
And when some, borrow or rob, panhandler gets off,
I fine-tune my radar and sit next to the door.
I switch to my doom mood as the farts continue,
I can't tell if it’s a mister or a madam.
Whoever's smelling like a bucket of dumb mud
their pungent odor is worse than dog doo, good God!
I should refer this to someone; it's hard to breathe
it’s getting out of control, and dammit, I’m mad!
When the awful smell follows me to street level
I begin to question, is it, I? It is I!
(A palindrome in each line)
(Free Verse)
5/13/2018
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment