Poem by Doniell Cushman
He's in his Wellingtons again
The ones with cut out handles Digging into the earth Avoiding the gas line Talking to himself of "crunches" and "Crashes" between Tonka trucks Flying through the air in his grungy hands Soil caked under the fingernails And dried into every pore or crevice "Smash!" he grunts, then sweeps the clods out between his legs For a dusty bum will arise And diggers dig-dig-dig before a "super-crash super-smash" Tsshh! pkow! Smash Smash smash smash Crouched in those Wellies I need a bath just watching him © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. All rights reserved by Doniell Cushman.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorDoniell Cushman, B.A. cum laude Archives
June 2022
Categories |