Maybe I'll find
a 100-dollar bill amidst
the burnt umber
maple leaves.
Maybe the ambulance will
come disguised as an
ice cream truck.
Perhaps I'll find a
warm forgotten can of
beer in the dryer.
Maybe, I'll blow
up the moon.
I'm losing it.
My pants won't
stay up, and I haven't
got a belt.
I'm being devoured by
the autumn winds and
the grackles.
Insomnia is crushing me.
Febrile and ferocious,
I stalk the university streets,
too sick to work.
Maybe this abscessed tooth
will kill me.
I used to pound out
12 hour days in the
hot July bean fields.
Farmer John always
smiling and shaking
his head.
Life is a
bologna
sandwich, and
I write these little
poems in yellow
mustard.
And I wait.
Just wait.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 20th, 2023 00:05
- Comment from author about the poem: Check out my new book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems on Amazon.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
- User favorite of this poem: Teddy.15.
Offline)
Comments6
Those experiences have to be expressed and deserve to be heard-it made my heart ache but kept my eyes open-those words deserve to be written in gold (and not mustard.)
You are a strong poet!
Thank you, I've come a long way.
Bologna? An excellent poem, to be down and out on the streets I've never been but this poetic verse truly makes the reader see and feel the life before and after . ❤️
Thank you, I've come so far.
I can relate to loosing weight. If you can find a real 2nd hand leather belt you can keep knocking holes in it.
As for all other aliments, tell them to piss off.
Thanks.
Good write T.
This I truly get, including almost being killed by an abscessed tooth. It could be called grackle-mania. The tang of yellow mustard fills my lungs!
Thank you.
Very well written!
Thank you.
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