Tom Zart | + Follow Poet |
Rhyme | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

The Pot Farmer

I got out my pipe and stuffed it with pot, 
You better believe, it held a whole lot.
I whipped out a lighter and thumbed up a flame,
Then sucked down that smoke which comforts my brain.

I tried alcohol; and smoked cigarettes,
Though, they did nothing, but give me regrets.
My mom had arthritis and couldn't walk around. 
When I rolled her a joint, she danced on the ground.

I thought I was losing my lovemaking knack, 
But, after I smoked some, to me it came back.
Soon I decided prices were too high,
So I searched for some ground I wouldn't have to buy.

I bargained for seeds from smokers all around, 
Then, got in my truck and drove out of town.
I walked through the woods where the wild birds nest, 
And found me the meadow I thought was the best.

I dug up the ground and sowed all my seeds;
Then said a small prayer for strong, healthy weeds.
I watered at night with a five-gallon pail;
The mosquitoes went hungry for I wore a veil.

Eight months went by; I thought I would die, 
'Till the Halloween moon was high in the sky. 
One night I went out, in my camouflage suit, 
And used a corn knife to chop down the loot.

I hung it up to dry where it couldn't be found.
Then came back and got it, when it had turned brown. 
I trimmed off the buds, and stuffed them in bags,
Called all my friends and passed out free drags.

In less then a week, my crop was gone!
But, I flew to St. Thomas with love-hungry blond.

Copyright © Tom Zart | Year Posted 2006

Please Login to post a comment