by Jerry Ratch
I'm a kept man, I told them.
But I lied.
Quit trying to
blow up my balloons for me.
I'm a kept man.
What is botulism anyway?
Botulism, lyme disease,
snoring,
I have it all.
If the Titanic rises from the bottom of the sea,
I will meet you on deck, in a deck chair.
Fully dressed for a change.
Did you say you were a king?
Or was that just
aching?
I need to know
before we return to the bottom
for another century.
I thought I overheard pre-recorded snoring
on prepaid phones.
I could've been misled or mistaken.
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If the Titanic rises from the bottom of the sea,/
I will meet you on deck, in a deck chair./
Fully dressed for a change.
Couldn't stitch it all together, but especially liked the stanza above.
I enjoyed this. I have often heard that poetry must be grounded in some way but I disagree half the time.
This poem is one of those reasons. To me it is left open so my thoughts can roam after I read it. And I love love love the opening line.
[enough babble from me] *
* I love this.
yes, yes!
*
Great poem, Jerry.
*
*