It was only much later—
When he found the empty roll of toilet paper
On the floor of the bath—
That he knew he was rich,
Ready to offer a spot of cash
To the drunkest bum on the bus
(Ignoring the vomit down the front of his blues)
Or to waste a couple hours in any of a dozen bars
Playing game after game of pool
With the sullen pre-verbal
Barkeep snapping his gum
In time to the crickets or murmuring mm hmm
After every sip of the eggnog.
Didn't he have like a frog
No lips to speak of, and the weathered lizard
Look of the frequently face-lifted?
Until the girls came in from the spa
Shouting "It's May, it's May!"
Strange, when he thought back on it—
He only remembered the frisky bits.
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A free-verse, but slant-rhyming poem (or verse micro fiction?) for Pinky Gruber's Free Write Group.
i don't know why, and can't say why, i will blame it on a holiday beer (why I can't say why or use my brain here much). but i love this. Especially the end.
Thanks!
I like how this is jagged with the language, the breaks and the overall feel. Good and nice and jagged.
Is it suppose to be: "No lips to speak of"?
Yes, Sheldon! thanks for catching that! Glad you like the feel of it too.
shades of easter 1916!