A bare art

Thinkings and poems 1 Minute

 

Bank your chin and upper lip         IMG_0056
you ain’t seen’t coffin yet
you can lead a hearse with  the porter
you can ever  go home and moan
you can say  crap  and strain my nerves
you can take the cat to the bank manager today
you can’t fit a square leg onto  a  round sole
you can’t make a welsh curse out of a cow’s rear
you can’t put the tooth back into the hole
you can’t shop him. you can only hope to maintain him.
you can’t swing a dead bat at NZ
you can’t take  picnicers off a rare  horse
you decomposed on my tart;  where’s the art?
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Published by Katherine

Poetry writer and author

Published