Read Poems by Ironic Zink

  

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Fingers on our booger

With one hand on my thigh
I realize it's time
To pick
My booger
At night all alone
I pick.
My boogers.
And when one hangs low.
I stop
And think
About my life...
2 people see two things wrong with too. 
Being involved.
We stop
And scratch our heads.
And when we are deep
In thought
We realize
That
Our fingers
Are on
Our boogers.

Copyright © Ironic Zink | Year Posted 2024