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.

Love Drunk Poem

We were drunk on our love.
Actually, we were just drunk.
Okay, we were drunks.
Turns out,
we were never in love.