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.

by Bill Knott

Comments (9)

Fantastic poem. Nicely penned.
Onto the carpet! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
how empty the buttonholes seem....... here is the problem even with esthetic every thing in flashing back, finally come these two lines, loved
A beautifully crafted melodious song and a pleasure to read.
Very nice poem. Enjoyed.Thanks for sharing.
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