Sardines All lined Up To Get Canned

Sardines all lined up to get canned.

 

 

 

So I sat and squandered

 

the first twenty minutes,

 
drawing cheesy doodles on a sticky pad,


then my girlfriend called and


coerced me into phone sex.

 
I'll tell you what,


it really hurts putting that reciever


up your wazoo, and I felt like

 

I needed a whole bar

of dial soap afterward.


all of that interruption

blew another ten minutes

 
of my hour to write,

 
the absolutely right stuff.


then it hit me that one only had to look


into their own eye and study the intricate


web of colors blended in a flowering iris,

 
and I became a pupil of my own insight,


gazing at my somewhat undetached retina,


I saw the handiwork of God

 
in this red viened, wet pearl orb,


with greenish brown pigment


adorning a tool I took for granted daily.


I once removed an enemies eyes,


by hooking my thumbs into the corners,


exerting less then two pounds of pressure,


they popped out and hung by the


optic nerves and viens,


swinging to and fro,

 
disabling any further desire


in him to kill me,

 
I left him studying the ground


he sought to put me in,


and now as I remember


that dismemberment

 
of such sacred organs


I shed a few tears for his loss,


however temporal


and then I realize


as my clock chimes


its silly british tune,


that my hours up,


and I have babbled away


any points I could have made with you,


and so in place of a poem


I will fetch a flintstone glass

 

and share Barney's rubble


with four fingers of

white chocolate schnapps,


and just sip the the eve away.


Cheers!

 

 

 

©-MFB III

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