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I am a wax Christmas candle left to melt out in the sun
That goofy guy with macro hair and thigh high jogging shorts
I never once ever had to slow down, wherever I would run
But nowadays I’m crawling; through reflux gags and nasal snorts
I am a Butterball turkey stuffed into a pair of waffle Nikes
Wrapped up in Ace bandages and basting in some smelly ointment
My once suave silk skin now sprouts a forest full of spikes
And this shag-carpeted back of mine begs osteopathic appointment
I am a no longer treasured trinket, a cigar box souvenir
Stored now in a musty closet beside the baseball, glove, and bat
My once un-containable smile sedately snarls into sneer
And where rippled muscle reigned supreme, now loiters layered fat
I am a toy top spinning before school; first grade
In the beginning whirling madly with all the joys of discovery
Now nilly-willy wobbling as inertia slacks and slowly fades
Wanting to be re-strung, re-flung; it's ten small steps to recovery
I am a handicrafted relic flint, rescued from a farmer’s plow
By a tank-topped teenaged tuff on the back of a kamikaze Kawasaki
Archived and guarded in a shoe box, kept to show to a future now
Who can measure up to a craftsman’s skill? Our ancient contemporary
'Voice of One' @ Jerry Buckley
Voice of One Jerry Buckley
| Submitted Date |
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Tuesday, January 24, 2012 |
| Submitted Date |
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Tuesday, January 24, 2012 |
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Poets
