Hey Fiddle Fiddle
He fiddled
with his foreskin,
pulling the taunts over
The tip of his nose,
it still stung, from when
Gary Mother****in' Jackson
(a strapping lad who insisted
this should have been his middle
name, after taking up a pool
job one summer)
Had pushed him, rather
abruptly into the bushes,
and those branches
Feeling like hands, poked
and prodded into the depth's
of his skin and he'd walked
Through that day, red and
welty, like an overgrown zit.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
