PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

That old yellow sun keeps on rolling

Over this Midwestern football town.

Rusty yelps, then chews on his bone.

Mittens is nowhere to be found.

I got a girl just a few blocks away

Who can't make sense all the time.

She gives me kisses in the afternoon.

We aren't what you'd call refined.

But we have kinship, and love,

Despite our many defects.

We're both mentally unstable.

By now I'm used to the concept.

I'm not much anymore.

My place is pretty well set.

I recline on my front porch

Just down the road from the rest.

And regrets, well I have a few.

Sometimes I pull them from my hat.

I could have been a writer.

I could have done just that.

But easy life isn't that bad,

Though it means relative obscurity.

I was never meant for fame.

In a way it's a matter of maturity.

Criticism was never my forte,

Nor was turning the other cheek.

But I could have married an actress

And talked to her from week to week.

Ah, it's not for me,

Life in the public eye.

I have too many skeletons, and besides,

She was never meant to be mine.

But I could have been a writer.

I could have done just that.

I fold the poem in a little square

And put it back in my straw hat.

The sun hovers in the sky.

A car drives by too fast.

The moment is seamless, and still,

But moments never last.