Michael Rippie


The Table

It seems I have not message of, color, race, or creed,
So I'll write about my table, simply out of need.
A can of cream style corn, a can of cut green beans,
Sit upon on my table, among the other things.
A pen, a knife, a roach-clip, all in disarray,
My what simple games, the human mind can play.
In the center of the table, stands a water pipe.
It stimulates my writing. Do you think it feels up tight?
It sleeps down in the cupboard feeling safe when out of sight.

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