Bottom Of The Stack Poem by Charles Malcolm

Bottom Of The Stack



Every gal
gets a poem.

I like some
more than others.

Especially the one
I hate.

Pick through my words.
Peel the meat from my bones.
Pull out my plucked arrow
and push it 'tween
these pickled ribs.

You stand before me
weakly
and I smile.

You're so at home
down there.

Saturday, October 24, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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