Alligators under the Bed
©Feb. 7th 2021, Olan L. Smith
Timeworn is not cursing when you stub your toes,
You only hear a thud, feel a stumble, and see split toenails
That you'll rip off without a flinch, the only time they hurt
Is when they fall asleep lying out your back reading
Run-on sentences, you'll feel a familiar tingle of dying nerves,
Like fallen asleep arms dangled over the edge too long,
And old memories of childhood alligators under the
Bed, or eyes gazing up as the cow jumps over the moon.
Who wants to poison themselves with sweets, sugarcane,
And cake out the arse with sugar highs, and donut powder
On the 'stache? Remnants is all they are, difficult to feel,
Hard to stand upon, just old crocodiles under the bed.
The surgeon will amputate, you'll row downstream to
The conclusion of life, to the anticipated delta where
Sediment rest; the child looks up, the cow jump
Over the moon, and the old man's bones fossilize.
(A.N. I am a diabetic with type 2 diabetes, and the poem is to relate to non diabetics what it feels like to lose sensation in their toes, and for some of us sugar is a deadly poison. The above artwork is mine and is an digital freehand interpretation of Picasso's crayon drawing titled, "Death Mask" which he drew on his deathbed, in 1972.)
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
