.

.

the first 57 are the roughest

on the occasion of my son's wolfish dog

chewing my books from college,

stirring memories of now and then

 

i want to go home
go
a home to go to
away

wayward bound, western found

leave me
sing sanguine thoughts of loss
find the future
between pages of aging books
the dog reads
eating away at what was once known
voraciously

leaving remnants and returns of southern sails

licking
sometimes the teeth show through the smile
horsely
i’m told you live longer if you skip
glue
skip lunch, exercise mores
yes
try to make the best
arise
glib situations
win
now this is it
  good luck
yes good luck

 

 

 

Copyright 2006 Fred Laughter

 

another poem