Always Another Ass For The Chair

I play with the tobacco on the end of my tongue

I stream smoke from my nose, like a midieval dragon

Holding all the castle’s people my hostage

It’s late — about 3:30 am, but I’m not the least bit tired

I feel full of ideas

But there isn’t a computer, typewriter or pen and paper near by

So I will let these thoughts fly by

Quietly losing my next great poem

I don’t really care though

Just like a piece of ass

Who grows tired of me, and leaves

It’s ok

There’s more fish… Yeah, yeah, yeah

I laugh out loud at myself

Boy, the things this old mind thinks up

I try to remember that great poem, but it’s already gone

No worries, no love lost

There’s always another ass for the chair

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

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