Lusus Politicus
Come in, old gentleman. How do you do?
Delighted, I'm sure, that you've called.
I'm a sociable sort of a chap and you
Are a pleasant-appearing person, too,
With a head agreeably bald.
That's right-sit down in the scuttle of coal
And put up your feet in a chair.
It is better to have them there:
And I've always said that a hat of lead,
Such as I see you wear,
Was a better hat than a hat of glass.
And your boots of brass
Are a natural kind of boots, I swear.
'May you blow your nose on a paper of pins?'
Why, certainly, man, why not?
I rather expected you'd do it before,
When I saw you poking it in at the door.
It's dev'lish hot
The weather, I mean. 'You are twins'?
Why, that was evident at the start,
From the way that you paint your head
In stripes of purple and red,
With dots of yellow.
That proves you a fellow
With a love of legitimate art.
'You've bitten a snake and are feeling bad'?
That's very sad,
But Longfellow's words I beg to recall:
Your lot is the common lot of all.
'Horses are trees and the moon is a sneeze'?
That, I fancy, is just as you please.
Some think that way and others hold
The opposite view;
I never quite knew,
For the matter o' that,
When everything's been said
May I offer this mat
If you _will_ stand on your head?
I suppose I look to be upside down
From your present point of view.
It's a giddy old world, from king to clown,
And a topsy-turvy, too.
But, worthy and now uninverted old man,
_You're_ built, at least, on a normal plan
If ever a truth I spoke.
Smoke?
Your air and conversation
Are a liberal education,
And your clothes, including the metal hat
And the brazen boots-what's that?
'You never could stomach a Democrat
Since General Jackson ran?
You're another sort, but you predict
That your party'll get consummately licked?'
Good God! what a queer old man!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
Big Boots
(words & music by wayne - edwards)
They call your daddy big boots
And big boots is his name
It takes a big man to wear big boots
Thats your daddys claim to fame
They know your daddy big boots
Wherever soldiers are
cause he can handle an armored tank
Just like a kiddy can
So sleep little soldier
Dont you cry
Loo loo loo loo
Loo loo loo
General sandmans soon coming by
Loo loo loo loo
Loo loo loo
Im gonna tell you a little secret
You wont believe its true
Did you know your
Daddy big boots
Once wore little boots like you
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Little Boots
TWO little boots all rough an' wo',
Two little boots!
Laws, I's kissed 'em times befo',
Dese little boots!
Seems de toes a-peepin' thoo
Dis hyeah hole an' sayin' 'Boo!'
Evah time dey looks at you —
Dese little boots.
Membah de time he put 'em on,
Dese little boots;
Riz an' called fu' 'em by dawn,
Dese little boots;
Den he tromped de livelong day,
Laffin' in his happy way,
Evaht'ing he had to say,
'My little boots!'
Kickin' de san' de whole day long,
Dem little boots;
Good de cobblah made 'em strong,
Dem little boots!
Rocks was fu' dat baby's use,
I'on had to stan' abuse
W'en you tu'ned dese champeens loose
Dese little boots!
Ust to make de ol' cat cry,
Dese little boots;
Den you walked it mighty high,
Proud little boots!
Ahms akimbo, stan'in' wide,
Eyes a-sayin' 'Dis is pride!'
Den de manny-baby stride!
You little boots.
Somehow, you don' seem so gay,
Po' little boots,
Sence yo' ownah went erway,
Po' little boots!
Yo' bright tops don' look so red,
Dese brass tips is dull an' dead;
'Goo'-by,' whut de baby said;
Deah little boots!
Ain't you kin' o' sad yo'se'f,
You little boots?
Dis is all his mammy's lef',
Two little boots.
Sence huh baby gone an' died,
Heav'n itse'f hit seem to hide
Des a little bit inside
Two little boots.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Forever in Boots
Swimming costume, bib and tucker
Stonewashed jeans or three-piece suits
Never going to be, a tidy looker
I am the man, forever in boots
Funerals, parties or weddings
Working days or evening pursuits
Planting flowers in their beddings
I am the man, forever in boots
I want to be forever in boots
I wear boots on land or sea
I can be a miserable old coot
If you hide my boots from me
In the ring wearing boxing boots
On a horse in my riding boots
At the riverside in Wellington boots
Happy to be the man, forever in boots
Man forever in boots
Seeks woman, to be his puss in boots
For country hikes, in walking boots
Eternal happiness, both; forever in boots
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Our Topsy-Turvy World
In the very very topsy-turvy world
Straight lines are elliptically curled
Way above is found below
Jungles covered up with snow
In the very very topsy-turvy world
In the world, so very very topsy-turvy
Ascorbic acid always brings on scurvy
Books with empty pages
Are read by all the sages
In the world, so very very topsy-turvy
The world of topsy-turvy consternation
Filled with topsy-turvy complications
Where the right is on the left
The most happy, most bereft
In this world of topsy-turvy situations
Foolish topsy-turvys heed no warnings
Sure there’s no such thing as global warming
They’re happy on their land
With their heads down in the sand
Where brain-less topsy-turvys bury warnings
In our world of topsy-turvy politicians
Concerned enough to better our conditions
They’ll be always there for you
With an honest point of view
In our world of topsy-turvy politicians
In our world where topsy-turvy is the norm
Where we’re taught the only way is to conform
Where nothing is quite sane
Where peace can never reign
So long as topsy-turvy is the norm
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Boots
INFANTRY COLUMNS
We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa --
Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-tw enty mile to-day --
Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you.
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again);
Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different --
Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers.
If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again) --
There's no discharge in the war!
We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness,
But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em --
Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company,
But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million
Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again.
There's no discharge in the war!
I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify
It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything,
But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Topsy-turvy
I'm upside down, inside out.
Cannot figure what I'm about.
I'm sometimes up, sometimes down,
sometimes smile and sometimes frown.
Topsy-turvy is what I am.
Seems I'm always in a jam.
Need to get my head on straight.
Probably need to meditate.
Slow right down and just let loose.
Just stop being a silly goose.
Topsy-turvy is what I am.
Seems I'm always in a jam.
Need to take a good deep look.
Make myself an open book.
Need to figure out what's wrong.
Bring back the peace where I belong.
Topsy-turvy, not anymore.
Got my feet straight on the floor.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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It would be neat if with the New Year
for Miguel
It would be neat if with the New Year
I could leave my loneliness behind with the old year.
My leathery loneliness an old pair of work boots
my dog vigorously head-shakes back and forth in its jaws,
chews on for hours every day in my front yard—
rain, sun, snow, or wind
in bare feet, pondering my poem,
I’d look out my window and see that dirty pair of boots in the yard.
But my happiness depends so much on wearing those boots.
At the end of my day
while I’m in a chair listening to a Mexican corrido
I stare at my boots appreciating:
all the wrong roads we’ve taken, all the drug and whiskey houses
we’ve visited, and as the Mexican singer wails his pain,
I smile at my boots, understanding every note in his voice,
and strangers, when they see my boots rocking back and forth on my
feet
keeping beat to the song, see how
my boots are scuffed, tooth-marked, worn-soled.
I keep wearing them because they fit so good
and I need them, especially when I love so hard,
where I go up those boulder strewn trails,
where flowers crack rocks in their defiant love for the light.
poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
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Neutered Boots
Neutered Boots,
Looked at me as if I knew...
The agony of losing,
Jewels once cherished.
Like a bonding of a maleness,
Had been sliced and diced.
And I was petting him gently...
Just trying to be nice.
But Boots had never been kneed,
In the groin.
Or have an affection wished dismissed,
By someone close Boots had lived with.
Boots is a kitten!
He'll get over it.
However...
Not too many other cats,
Will come to appreciate...
Where Boots is at.
And Boots will have to learn that...
On his own!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Spanish Boots
(beck, stewart, wood)
I used to work and take a salary
In a hole up near a foundry
But it did not take me too long
To get my boots on a so long!
Long spanish boots on a so long!
I took a day job in bethlehem
I nearly threw in the towel then
But it did not take me too long
To get my boots on a so long!
High spanish boots on a so long!
Dig it
I took a spanish haberdashery
Restored with 15th century tapestry
But oh, mr. nesbitt got the best of me
So I strapped on my boots and said so long!
Laced up my high boots and so long!
Goodbye
... am on a job you see
cause my old boots they mean too much to me
Leather boots are just a mystery
Put on my boots and said so long!
High spanish boots on and so long!
Put on my boots and said so long!
Those old spanish boots
Put on my boots and said so long!
High spanish boots
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stripe Me Pink
We have to be careful
with whatever we say
as it might happen to us one day.
I knew a fellow once
who had a saying that entered
into every conversation that he made.
He would say quite loudly,
well, stripe me pink.
One day he woke up
and found he was striped pink
but the joker didn’t stop there,
he gave him green and purple spots as well.
He went to his doctor
who was quite mystified
with having a man come into his surgery
with pink stripes and green and purple spots.
He asked what he had been eating,
nothing unusual the fellow replied.
The doctor frowned
feeling there was nothing he could do
told him to go home and rest until it wore off.
The days passed and a month went by
but the stripes and spots remained.
Off he trotted back to see the doctor again
who shook his head saying
there was nothing he could do
as is looks like the stripes and the dots are permanent.
The only suggest I can make
is that you get clothes the very same colour
then no one will ever know
which is the clothes and which is you.
So the next time you utter something ridiculous
be careful what you are saying
as you might end up wearing it
until your dying day.
1 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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Boots
I found a pair of boots upon the street
So I took them home to wear on my feet
I washed them I cleaned them and I aired them out
So I could put them all later when I would walk about.
I put my new boots on, and I walked down the road
They seemed so very sturdy to carry my heavy load
Then they took me places where I have never been
I could tell that these boots were very well broken in.
They felt so very soft and comfortable upon my feet
How excited I was for my new boots others would see.
And when I did my walk many persons just stared
As they looked at my new boots but I really never cared.
Maybe they too just wanted boots just like mine
But this one thing I knew they were hard for me to find.
I had so much fun with my brand new pair of boots
We walked everywhere they placed me in a happy mood
And the longer that I walked still no pain did I feel
I was excited and content my life became so surreal.
So it started to get late so I decided to walk home
So that's were we head just me and my boots alone
And then when I took them off I placed them beside my bed
So I could be ready for my next journey or adventure ahead.
I wore those boots of mine for many, many years
They always felt so comfortable never brought me any tears
I would wash them and clean them and polish them too
Now they were always mine and they always looked brand new.
Then one day I wore another pair of shoes when I went out
I left my old boots home alone so they could air out
So myself and my new shows were gone most of the day
As I had errands to run and also many bills to pay.
But sadly when I got home I was taken by surprise
My boots were stolen and that brought tears to my eyes
I thought to myself who would steal those old boots of mine
Boots that have been worn and used who would commit that crime.
So I went out and bought so many different pairs of shoes
And none are that old as they are all seemingly brand new
I still go for my walks and I still go to town and all about
My feet are so much happier now I myself with joy wanna shout
But every now and then I think about those boots I once wore
The ones I found on the street and I never bought in the store
I wonder now if they are ragged and torn and beyond repair
But that's someone else problem now, so why would I care.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Little Man
Little man with your high heel boots on
As you are walking down the street,
I wander if people know who you really are
That daily you might meet or greet.
As you are maybe just five foot four,
And your also a liar, and a user and a cheat
You go against the laws of God and Man
So you smile stupidly as you are also a thief.
You take the things which are not yours
And according to GOD they should never be,
So you corrupt the youth and the ones your with
As you don't know of truth, or vows or loyalty.
Little bald man with your silly little smile
Again walking down the road,
Afraid of your shadow, so others must fight your battles
Truly God, has tossed away your soul.
You live in a run down house on a dirty little street
Where everyone there knows your name,
But they know that your just a pitiful little man
As all you do is cause sin, and hate and pain.
God gave you a family once before
A wife and daughters and I think of two,
But you weren't happy with what you had then
So you cheated on them, with someone new.
Little bald man we all just laugh at you
You truly will never be like us, a man,
As you cant stand up on your own tiny little feet
So you must ask someone to hold your tiny little hand.
What you cant have you try to break or steal
GOD again as turned his back away from you,
You wont keep his laws or his commandments he wrote
So you will corrupt all that is near or around you.
You care for no one but only yourself
Maybe that's why you have that stupid little smile,
And who you do know you try to own and control
You are so much, like a spoiled little child.
Little man with your hairless little head
I wander if GODS thoughts ever gets inside of there,
As you always wear a cap to cover up your hairless fact
Or I wonder, if for your soul or others do you really care.
I think that you think of no one but only yourself
Maybe that's why you will never be a man,
So you wear your high heel boots and a cap on your head
Too bad by yourself, you cant and wont make a stand.
But one day when you look back on your life
You'll wish you could had changed but you never can,
Your friends and your family will then look and laugh at you
And they will feel pity, for the hairless stupid little man.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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I Palindrome I
Someday mother will die and Ill get the money
Mom leans down and says, my sentiments exactly,
You son of a bitch
I palindrome I (I palindrome I)
I palindrome I (I palindrome I)
And I am a snake head eating (snake head)
The head on the opposite side (snake head)
I palindrome I (manonam)
I palindrome I (manonam)
See that bulletproof dress hanging from the clothesline
See the medical chart with the random zig-zag
Now Ill help it decide
I palindrome I (I palindrome I)
I palindrome I (I palindrome I)
And I am a snake head eating (snake head)
The head on the opposite side (snake head)
I palindrome I (manonam)
I palindrome I (manonam)
I palindrome I (manonam)
I palindrome I (manonam)
Son I am able, she said though you scare me.
Watch, said i
Beloved, I said watch me scare you though. said she,
Able am i, son.
See the spring of the grandfather clock unwinding
(egad, a base tone denotes a bad age)
See the hands of my offspring making windmills
(egad, a base tone denotes a bad age)
Dad palindrome dad
I palindrome I (I palindrome I)
I palindrome I (I palindrome I)
And I am a snake head eating (snake head)
The head on the opposite side (snake head)
I palindrome I (manonam)
I palindrome I (manonam)
I palindrome I (manonam)
I palindrome I (manonam)
Notes
Dial-a-song had a substantially different song with the same name. this piece, which had a different melody and was sung by flansburgh instead of linnell, goes as follows:
I palindrome i
Born on the 5th of july
One door shut, another one closed
I palindrome i
She king of brooklyn she
Master of all she surveys
Lives a life unencumbered by me
She king of brooklyn she
Man, when I was a young man
Not like Im driving a rocking chair now, but
Man, when I was a young man
I was free
I palindrome i
Mister 5th of july
One door shut, another one closes for
I palindrome i
Man, when I was a young man
Not like Im driving a rocking chair now, but
Man, when I was a young man
I was free
I palindrome i
Something just fell on my head
Born on the 5th of july
I palindrome i
I palindrome i
I palindrome i
Something just fell on my head
Something just fell on my head
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Would You Wear a Cowboy Hat for Me
Would you wear a cowboy hat for me?
Even though I know you are a big city boy
I can’t help but like those cowboy hats, you see
So would you wear a cowboy hat for me?
A ten gallon hat, yeah black, now that’s the key
Please say yes, do not be coy
So would you wear a cowboy hat for me?
Even though I know you are a big city boy
Would you wear cowboy boots for me?
Even though I know you are a big city boy
I can’t help but to like those cowboy boots, you see
So would you wear cowboy boots for me?
Rawhide leather, pointy and spurs yeah that’s the key
Please say yes, do not be coy
So would you wear cowboy boots for me?
Even though I know you are a big city boy
Would you ride a horse for me?
Even though I know you are a big city boy
I can’t help but to like horses you see
So would you ride a horse for me?
Stallion, mustang, any kind would be
Please say yes, do not be coy
So would you ride a horse for me?
Even though I know you are a big city boy
Even though you are a big city boy
You ride a horse that’s black
Wear cowboy boots and a ten gallon hat
How can it be - you are now my cowboy
poem by Anna Pacheco
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A Matter of Knack
Jock M'Pherson was a person who was boastful in conversin',
But respectable and ponderous and dignified withal!
Con M'Carty was a party who was something of a smarty,
And beside the big M'Pherson looked particularly small;
But Cornelius M'Carty, he was artful, after all!
When Cornelius M'Carty thought M'Pherson was his dart, he
Made a wager he could carry him a mile along the track;
Which, considering M'Pherson was a very weighty person,
Was a risky undertaking for M'Carty's little back.
But Cornelius protested it depended on the knack!
"Take yer coat off!" called M'Carty, and M'Pherson gave a start, he
Hadn't bargained for proceedings the reverse of dignified!
But he felt he had the best of the arrangement. "Take yer vest off!"
Said M'Carty; and M'Pherson very graciously complied.
It was in the private parlor, and the crowd was all outside.
"Take yer boots off!" said M'Carty in a cheerful tone and hearty,
But M'Pherson he objected that the crowd would see his toes.
Said M'Carty, "See, M'Pherson, there ain't any sense in cursin',
Take yer boots off, I don't reckon to be handicapped with those!
I am not the sort of juggins you apparently suppose!"
This M'Pherson's wrath arouses. "But," said he, "I'll keep me trousers!"
"Not a trouser!" said M'Carty, "or to me the wager goes.
The conditions you're reversin'; I will carry you, M'Pherson,
But the wager doesn't say a blessed word about yer clothes!"
That was how the small M'Carty had M'Pherson by the nose!
poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Shes Goin Bald
Silken hair, more silken hair
Fell on her face and no wind was blowin
(shes goin bald)
Silken hair, more silken hair
Lay near her pillbox down at her feet
(shed been on a trip)
I peeked in and when I saw shed
Lost her hair I thought I would keel
(shes goin bald)
When she saw her shining forehead
Didnt stop she swooned to the ground
(really flipped her wig)
Laughed so hard i
Blew my mind
I blew my cool
I blew myself over
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Sha na na, sha na na na na na na na na
What a blow
Sha na na, sha na na na na na na na na
What a blow
Sha na na, sha na na na na na na na na
What a blow
Sha na na, sha na na na na na na na na
What a blow
Sha na na, sha na na
She drew her comb acrost her scalp
And brushed what she had left
I tried to salvage what I could
And threw it in a sack
She made a b-line to her room
And grabbed all kind o juice
She started pourin it on her head
And thought itd grow it back
Ah ha haaaaaa
Youre too late mama
Aint nothin upside your head
No more no more no more no more
Upside your head
Too late mama
Aint nothin upside your head
No more no more no more no more
Upside
Upside your head
Youre too late mama
Aint nothin upside your head
No more no more no more no more
(what about it, dude? )
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Willaloo
By E. A. P.
In the sad and sodden street,
To and fro,
Flit the fever-stricken feet
Of the freshers as they meet,
Come and go,
Ever buying, buying, buying
Where the shopmen stand supplying,
Vying, vying
All they know,
While the Autumn lies a-dying
Sad and low
As the price of summer suitings when the winter breezes blow,
Of the summer, summer suitings that are standing in a row
On the way to Jericho.
See the freshers as they row
To and fro,
Up and down the Lower River for an afternoon or so—
(For the deft manipulation
Of the never-resting oar,
Though it lead to approbation,
Will induce excoriation)—
They are infinitely sore,
Keeping time, time, time
In a sort of Runic rhyme
Up and down the way to Iffley in an afternoon or so;
(Which is slow).
Do they blow?
'Tis the wind and nothing more,
'Tis the wind that in Vacation has a tendency to go:
But the coach's objurgation and his tendency to 'score'
Will be sated—nevermore.
See the freshers in the street,
The elite!
Their apparel how unquestionably neat!
How delighted at a distance,
Inexpensively attired,
I have wondered with persistence
At their butterfly existence!
How admired!
And the payment—O, the payment!
It is tardy for the raiment:
Yet the haberdasher gloats as he sells,
And he tells,
'This is best
To be dress'd
Rather better than the rest,
To be noticeably drest,
To be swells,
To be swells, swells, swells, swells,
Swells, swells, swells,
To be simply and indisputably swells.'
See the freshers one or two,
Just a few,
Now on view,
Who are sensibly and innocently new;
How they cluster, cluster, cluster
Round the rugged walls of Worcester!
See them stand,
Book in hand,
In the garden ground of John's!
How they dote upon their Dons!
See in every man a Blue!
It is true
They are lamentably few;
But I spied
Yesternight upon the staircase just a pair of boots outside
Upon the floor,
Just a little pair of boots upon the stairs where I reside,
Lying there and nothing more;
And I swore
While these dainty twins continued sentry by the chamber door
That the hope their presence planted should be with me evermore,
Should desert me—nevermore.
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Needs Love Like That
Who needs love like that
Theres something going on
Something not quite right
Theres something strange
Happening to me
Theres someone at the door
Hear voices in my head
It seems things arent the way
They ought to be
Who needs love like that
Who needs love like that
It seemed so clear before
I held my point of view
I kept my conversation
Never changed
Now its all gone wrong
Words are kind of hard
Nothing else around me
Looks the same
Who needs love like that
Who needs love like that
Love can turn you upside-down
And leave you cold
Its plain to see
Youre losing all control
(losing all control)
Id like to understand
Like to find out why
I cant remember all
The lines that you said
But then I see your face
And nothing really counts
Dont tell me now
This feeling will stay
Who needs love like that
Who needs love like that
Love can turn you upside-down
And leave you cold
Its plain to see
Youre losing all control
(losing all control)
Who needs love like that
Who needs love like that
Love can turn you upside-down
And leave you cold
Its plain to see
Youre losing all control
(losing all control)
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not To Mention
I don't know why it occurred
I just looked at the sky and murmured
I took little sand from the ground and whispered
Put over head and silently uttered
'You were all along my inspiration'
I used to tell her when was at high peak with relation
She will smile and offer no words
But yes she remained my world
I lived beautiful moments in her company
She was never known to so many
Except me and few more to whom I knew
She was indeed exceptional creature to view
Very liberal, innocent and kind at heart
She was on earth as beautiful art
A rare combination of beauty with intelligence
I used to take pride in her presence
'You will miss me so much one day'
She woke me up from deep sleep to say
Will it happen in days to come?
I was sore at thought and did not welcome
Things have moved rapidly
I hardly remember it vividly
She is no more with me today
But she has shown me the way
I wish to write words from my heart
I take pen in hand and make good start
Comparing her to that of moon
But rub and over write something soon
She can't be put in exact words with imagination
She is holding my hand for not to make any revelation
'We are not for people's fancy and cruel joke'
She may suddenly come before eyes and disappear in smoke
'Yes you are absolutely right'
My tearful eyes may try to see the light
She will make no move to go away
I have found her in me but not to mention in any way
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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July 1 2009***Giving His Boots a Rest
He is resting
In a comfortable Library chair
With his boots and jacket on
His backpack is nearby
He's reading today's paper
And has three plastic covered
Magazines stacked on the floor
To read next
He's in from the cold and rain
He's in where it's warm and dry
He's been to the men's room to
Wash himself and his socks and shorts
Wrapped in a plastic bag
He'll dry them later
Now he's trying to get his boots to dry
They're damp and well worn
They are not worn out
Just like him
They are well worn
They've covered many miles
He's worked in them
He's slept in them
To keep warm and to see
That they are not stolen
Where do you put your shoes at night?
Under you bed? In your closet?
It's been a long time
Since he's had either
How do you
Keep your feet from freezing
In the long hard-frost winter nights?
How do you keep warm?
If you'd never had to worry
You wouldn't appreciate
The warm dry Library chair
That gives his boots a rest
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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