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Funny Bunny Fridays

Friday Poetry Fest

Poetry Picnic

d'Verse Poet's Pub

So is it that you are afraid

I might use your comments section

like the wall

of a public restroom stall?

Hell...y'all should be so lucky.

Some of the best wit

I ever saw

appeared in that little cubicle

where minions sat

and shat

and posted their witticisms

in that minimalist style

so reminiscent of Hemingway

or Raymond Carver

for all succeeding thinkers

and stinkers

to ponder and reflect upon--

next to the phone number

of some girl

who would show you a good time.

I never called

though I was tempted.

And who could ever forget

that timeless classic:

Here I sit

all broken hearted

ran sixteen blocks

and only farted

Those anonymous writers

were carrying forward the legacy

of the prehistoric cave artists--

or less romantic perhaps

they were the forerunners of the taggers.

It was the closest thing to the internet we had--

especially when the crapper

was located inside

an international airport terminal.

So no

I'm not concerned

about offending the laity.

I prefer spontaneity.

So come one

come all

and scribble something

on my wall.

It's only words

(as the Bee Gees once said)

after all.