When I was young
My Dad drank a lot
He still does
Though less than he used to
...
It’s a weak dry cough
And a head full of cement
It’s a little bit of phlegm
Every now and then
...
She is from and of water
Her thoughts are a stream
When she is filled
She reaches out and touches
...
So you write a few poems
And think you’re a poet
Then a voice says
Don’t be too hard on yourself
...
She was a cute little thing
And seemed to come
All by herself
Except for her mobile
...
Sometimes
The gelding resents
The stallion
For he remembers
...