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