Edward Ogle the Dickinson
by Peter Erich
Hope is the thing playing checkers
it perches quietly in the peppers
And sings like a tunnel rat.
Hair is the thing on Boris Becker
it perches on him like a knit sweater
And smells like total crap.
Hollywood is the thing with smokers
they perch like spots on a leopard
and hide in a basement laundromat.
Honor is the thing that sobers
it perches on either shoulder
and sings Burt Bacharach.
Home is the thing with a familiar odor
it perches quietly in the peppers
And sings like a tunnel rat.
Hair is the thing on Boris Becker
it perches on him like a knit sweater
And smells like total crap.
Hollywood is the thing with smokers
they perch like spots on a leopard
and hide in a basement laundromat.
Honor is the thing that sobers
it perches on either shoulder
and sings Burt Bacharach.
Home is the thing with a familiar odor
its unoffensive to its owner
and lingers over chitchat.
and lingers over chitchat.
Healing is the thing with liquor
it perches deep in your liver
and puts its arms around you like a heart attack.
it perches deep in your liver
and puts its arms around you like a heart attack.
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Author's Note
i write these "Edward Ogle" poems for fun. this is the seventh that i've shared but there are more. enjoy. (and sings like a pontiac.)
Other stories by Peter Erich
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Very funny.
*
(typo in penultimate stanza)
@billyaroow Thank you and yes, good catch!
*.
should it be "Hope is the thing that sobers" ?
also: "familiar odor" ?