- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Boxed in a Boxcar Diner
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With bloodshot eyes and ruffled hair I sat
Waiting for my buttered breakfast toast,
Plummeting my daily de-caf dose
With something for my ulcer
Looking around
With my every morning frown
For anything renewed.
It wasn’t a thing but a she,
Probing, piercing my eyes with her blue
And a blondeful of hairhooks,
Perched on her tea toting mother’s lap,
Sipping whole milk, staring me back,
And damn, I thought I heard her say
“Hey! What the hell's the matter with you?”
- COMMENTS
vrosej10over 13 years agoImpressive toast-dose slant rhyme. I will have to remember that one.
twelveooneover 13 years agoI should give you a 75 for de-caf, but since you have an excuse. If the writer of the previous "poem" happens to stop, this is also close to prose, but the Authour employs some poetic tricks - daily de-caf dose, buttered breakfast, Probing, piercing. And he gets a few bonus points if he answers this question: Where the hell is this Boxcar Diner? Are we talking the real railroad car type diner? Sheet steal? Haven't seen one in years.
