fan mail for the mayor

~

fan mail for the mayor  (  a  p o e m  )




we scratch our itches, rub our sores

we stretch our stretches, yawn our yawns

we comb our chest hair - almost roar

then pay the gnomes to

mow the lawn


we write our fan mail for the mayor

we pause mid-thought on wobbly chairs

we inspect smudges over there

then think of nan's hips

whispered prayers


we plod through valleys in the rain

we whistle folk songs with no name

we catch our busses, miss our trains

then grief turn bleak - oh

who to blame ( ? )


we talk to no one in our homes

about the war then so-&-sos

we talk for days - they don't half drone

'tis tiring fair - time flies

time goes

...



































































Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s