On The Rocks

Cozy, I set to fire tenderness
overcooked, spewing firelight tales -
plaid and checkered and striped.
Come wrap yourself in comfort’s clothes
and put your feet up, dear.
Lock out the chill, bring oven-warm cake,
and share an ice-smattered rhapsody -
bottoms all the way up.
Grip your whiskey and gin;
a cherry stem will swirl the spittle
round your knotty tongue.
Sits the easy chair, electrified.

Flickering smiles and roundabout jitters
a haven concocted in sanity, here.
'Tis a shame about your absent eyes,
but you should have seen the Exit sign
across our welcome mat.
Enter; you'll dry your wispy hands and
hang them inside out,
wipe your feet on a shaggy trapdoor -
as long as there’s dessert.

With apple pie and cinnamon scents,
we roll you in tonight.
Buttered up, soaked in starch -
the puppies smack their lips.
They sniff your people scraps,
hunger for your meat,
and devour with a flourish
their under-the-table treat.

(P.S. There are spaces in this poem which do not show up on this website. This is not its true form.)



[May 18th,2004]

by Zoe Nyght

Other poems of NYGHT (43)

Comments (2)

AJS is correct. He can smell a poem from beyond Fittock's Ridge. H
I don't understand the question.