Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

under the weathers


I try to understand the sky, weather woman
says one thing, sky would do another.
Why worry about some umbrella, no one needs?
I walk through puddles, just to wash my feet.
I try to keep my cat away, from the rabbit.
I just cannot tell about the weather, I cry into my eggs
because, I can't afford any more roses.

Submitted: Thursday, May 28, 2009
Edited: Thursday, February 18, 2010

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