Michael Pruchnicki

Iowa Cornfields - Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

The local chapter meets each month
in the back room of the kennel club,
labradors and lesser breeds long gone
from the premises. Codgers sit at the bar
waiting for a live one to spend a dime
or for Gabriel to sound his trumpet!

Some few boast and trumpet
past deeds-now they wait each month
for a disability check - not a dime
in savings, not for a night at the club
where Mimi dances on the bar
reminding them of days long gone!

Comments about Iowa Cornfields by Michael Pruchnicki

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 17, 2008

Poem Edited: Thursday, April 17, 2008

[Report Error]