Robert Gaskin Poems

On the highway the dead cat lay
becoming one with the asphalt and the clay
as the cars, lorries and SUVs passed
he did not like it that way
...

Like a sheet of paper blown along the street
she walks the beach seeking sex and sun
she, the other white meat
for a black, sturdy child of the poor
...

I cry

You ridicule me
and your taunts
...