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A Poetry Ass
My wife says, “I’m a poetry ass.’
A space cadet you know what!
For on life I’ve been known to pass
And live with my head up my butt.
She thinks I have Alzheimer’s
But I’m pretty sure I do not.
What I’ve got is Alzrhymer’s,
A poetry ass in spaced out thought.
And difficult I know I can be
With my head mostly in the clouds;
An ass doing poetry,
Who lives in blinders and shrouds.
No one knows the truffles I’ve seen,
Writing silly words in silly rhyme;
But this head of mine what might have been,
If up my ass I wasted less time?
