| |
Her photo did not flatter.
Even the casual observer,
the one without an interest
in any of life's offerings
would see the blemish; eyes
as dead as ancient stones,
a dullard's pebbles, stuck
perpetually inside a stump,
but what they all observed,
while shrugging, at a loss
for words and body signs,
no contact would be made
it was the teeth, one could,
with some precision take
a whiff of halitosis, sure
there were the potions for,
and they did work a tiny bit
until one turned one's face,
then to return, a toxic huff.
Words fell from deep within
into a quite reluctant world.
You'd think, so said the bum
leaning against the pissoir,
that she would choose with care,
perhaps a real Tie would serve
to take the lead and fool the fans?
Herbert Nehrlich
|
|
User Rating: |
|
10.0
/10
(1 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend