Lonnie Hicks Poems

”Here sit a little closer, ” she said, “this I can see will be a private talk.

So go on stranger, ' she said, 'tell me how you got to be Albert Einstein and mind you this is beginning to feel like a three-beer, two bags of popcorn conversation.”
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They had Mugsy cornered on the couch in the family room; he was whimpering and scratching madly as FC directed his evil minions to “go for the eye that really freaks them out.”

True Mugsy was not only allergic to fleas but he was very sensitive when they attacked around his mouth and his eyes. He was scratching so badly that he had scrapped the fur off and was down to bere skin around his mouth and that, of course, made it easier for the fleas to suck away.
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Love's blind touch gropes in our dark
and I hear you giggle
reveling in the hide and seek
in your cape of satin sheets
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Pretty Hurts
 I am the  pretty one,

the one the girls hate
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Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.

Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
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I'll take Time,
twist it into a toy balloon;
hold it aloft at our favorite restaurant;
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First eye
in the full mirror
silhouetted
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I pull the truck out
and head for the open road-
our relationship
splattered all along the highway;
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If my eyes were flowers
they'd bloom
in your view;
my hands
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She turns 11 tomorrow.
and she says to me:

'Do babies come really
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