peterson's blues

children bark and slide

down dirty snow

on a warped toboggan

that makes the sound

of a blind man

in a space with seven walls

a dose of flat soda

a moldy immerse on a wall

a hacked fill up of government cheese

that ain't orb of day orange

and tastes like about half

of what we need

the last two bucks

like the stuff

that wells out

of the corners

of the fields

that inundation so often

and never expand a good go corn

of the corners

of the organ of visions of the blind

there is little to say

leave your mind

in the bucket through the door

say a doom about

the tv

the dvd

the movie

and pre-register your heart

and for 1995

hell

even stick your finger in

hell

even 9/11

now the satellite mouth barks

now money is short

that tv vcr is nearest in line

to get it

at least

you don't have to

lead it on the outside back

like a dog

with a pistol

the tv wouldn't draw near anyway

it ain't a advantageous tv

the kids say it's good

and clinch up a finger

full of cheese

dad lifts his shirt at night

dad secures a good tan from it

the wife likes

when everybody goes

to set out cigarettes

on soap opera stars

it's morning now

the day-star sure is a bad egg

there's a line

frozen in the snow

where the tv cord was trying

to grasp on

he just couldn't make a go

that 18 incher

gone gone

in his shared room

the kid sits quiet

as the wind

near a man

with nothing

but his kids

he reaches down

balls a sock

throw it at the wall

picks it up

throw it at the wall

picks it up

throw it at the wall

until it worms

from a ball

to a sock again

ABRAHAM SMITH is a native of Ladysmith, Wisconsin. His metrical compositions are published or forthcoming in Crossconnect protecting enclosure and Painted Bride Quarterly, among others. he resides in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

Copyright World poesy Incorporated Mar/Apr 2004

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