Untitled

It is not clear in my mind how i
came to be here. I am somehow
aware that I do not belong, that
the smell of the river, the mud,
the magnolias is foreign to me.
yet as we walk he speaks to me of
last night's jook and remember
that long-haired one who tried to
sit on my lap as we played and how
we didn't miss a beat when her man
jumped at us and tripped, smashing
his face into the table and
remember the blood on the floor as
they dragged him out and how she
just laughed and said play me the
Terraplane Blues, Little Robert
and man, didn't we play the hell
out of that one, Willie Brown...

August 23, 1994
© 1994 by Rob Hutten

Untitled
or Since He Asked So Nicely..

: :
: : : I sure was bored on Thursday
: : : but Thursday went away
: : : So I can't write a poem
: : : 'Cause I'm not bored today.

(: : I'm not posting that.--Michelle )

: A poem's like a sex slave
: you've got to flog 'er well
: I beg of thee, oh Mistress
: please post my doggerel!

April, 1998.
© 1998 by Rob Hutten

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