Flashbacks - Poem by Bill Knott
All it takes is Laura Riding's riding-
crop across my butt, and I'm off:
Git-up horsie she cries astride me as
I crash sweetly onto the carpet.
Boredom what an esthetic,
cleansing the days-
I laud the vintage of my toothpick.
Small-husband to the floor,
my foot stoops in dance,
in courtship intervals.
Putting their clothes on afterwards
the lovers are surprised
at how empty
the buttonholes seem.
Comments about Flashbacks by Bill Knott
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You