Poetry: Ron Peat

Poetry: Francine Dvoracek




Fool that I am.
Don’t have no pride I
love you
I would charleston it
down the hallway
the wrong way on the staircase
to everyones dismay
what’s wrong with her.
Wagging as though
I had a tail
Fool that I am.
When it is gone
I’ll unashamedly
howl at the moon
and be
otherwise miserable
look awful
maybe catch a cold
Fool that I am
sputtering and sinking
in my priveleged despair
the world lies
somewhere in
the balance.