hork
We spit out, over and over again,
what we’ve been told
I’m better at hiding it, because I
read more varied sources, and
you might be hard pressed to name them
Our own thots are rare, and really only a
reflection of those in orbit
Like parrots we go gabbing all day long
pronouncing the fate of millions,
America, Afghanistan, Iraq
horses, hidden in the barn
at the back of the farm
the future of sad billions, not really
ours to dwell upon. Altho a
kind word in the right direction, might help
a kite, in the brite sky, flying so gaily
the mail still arrives daily
mostly junk mail, invitations for a credit line,
tempting your already unhealthy brain.
Somebody spent a lot of money on those little ads
here or there a duck, listening to Styx music
a quick nickel from the sidewalk
and a bit of bark for tea
ne’ry a dog that doesn’t pee all over
a black dressed man horks in
front of him, far too close to you.
©2011 Rudolf Kurt Penner
