- Non-Erotic Poetry
- On The Brink
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I think it best I avoid all things sad today;
morning paper,
nightly news,
violins.
Back in '56, Dad said to me,
"Honey, you feel too much."
"If you were to know the pain
suffered in this ole world
in any given minute, you'd die,
so don't think about the wild mustangs
and their fate. It will only make you cry
and what can you do?
Write to the president?"
And so, I did:
Dear Mr. President Eisenhower,
on and on it went. And what good DID it do?
What GOOD did it do?
There's still Ken-L-Ration!
Knowing I'm on the brink, ready to slip,
and I really don't know why,
basic instincts jump to defenses
and I play the role
of pupa in its cocoon,
refuse to think,
and trade violins for boogie woogie.
