Wild Turkey Frozen Custard

C’est la vie,” say the old folks, It goes to show you never can tell.

for Seth

Bourbon Trail! Oh my Lord…
You’ve been speared by the horns of an Either-Or!
A fearsome wild primordial yak
That feasts on carrion, and when lack
Compels it to, makes do with other
Sustenance, such as its own amanuensis.

Sorry it had to happen to you.

Is this the way to catch a-one?
The Gateway to the West is won
As Mr. Strickland’s ministrations
Foist poetic educations
Down the orange cellar-door
Into the one-room school where torque
O’erthrows the wrinkled time
Of a mechanistically-inclined
Young man who needs to poetize.
A wrench.

Hear the author read this poem in his virile, mellifluous voice:
Wild Turkey Frozen Custard



    • All for you, you lovely man. Great talking the other day. Remember to email me your snail mail address.

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