When Old Men Cry
when the brain is bold
the pen is pregnant;
and nine months stretch
out over an inch
under the title still
like expectant father
waiting for a kick
and you’ll feel a flurry
but knowing this can be a trick,
those uterine lines
need nutrition,
don’t tear at that gut feeling:
let them gestate for
monday evenings
exceptional in convention
when your lady spills her drink
all over the bathroom floor,
and now your water’s breaking, too
all down your cheeks
and onto your
baby.
Copyright © Samuel St. Clair | Year Posted 2012
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