(1940 - 2014 / Carson City, Michigan)


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.

User Rating: 2,8 / 5 ( 32 votes ) 9

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.
See More