The Poem About the Injured Lion

The songbird delivers the message —
a friend is in pain.
I want to pluck
the thorn from their paw
but I know I’ll only
bring them temporary relief,
because they live in the forest,
and the floor is awash with thorns.
And besides, I can’t touch them
because continents separate us,
and I live in my own wilderness,
with my own pride.
I can only hope the sun
will find them,
warm their mane,
and light their way
to a beast who will walk
the path with them.
And then they can pluck each other
whenever the need or desire arises.

The I Wear My Trousers Rolled Poem

Everybody’s so cool,
I can’t stand it.
That’s how I know
I’m old.
That and the fact
that I get up every night,
in the middle of the night,
every night,
in the middle of the night.
And I repeat myself.
Plus no one’s listening
to what I’m saying anyway.
Not even me.