Paul Warren Poet Free verse

A Modern Story

He sat in his shed so very sad 
With the only thing
His dear mother had left to him 
Was two dozen clean mason jars

So he drank down the last moon-shine
That his mother had made
Before she passed on to her reward
And he looked and did his best thinkin’

Then a light went on in his head
He would combine what he got for free
And gathered his flatulence in the jars
To sell them at the local market

It was a task but he worked at it
Eating cabbage, onion and boiled eggs
Feeling accomplished when the last jar was filled
But on market day his plan fell apart

The local Constable seized his jars 
For you need a licence
To sell gas from your ass
Even with refills from a bottomless glass.

© Paul Warren Poetry

This was written from a story of the internet.

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