by Glen Martin Fitch
So just how stupid
do you think I am?
Did you think
you invented sex or crime?
Do you think
I can't spot a fib or scam?
Your silence,
jokes and jabber
waste my time.
Today your body
may be at its prime,
but, trust me, not so
is your growing mind.
Your nasty wit's not wisdom.
Mostly I'm annoyed
by all the many woes
you've whined.
I'd rather have a mule.
Though unrefined
they're sterile,
tough,
and don't shit where they eat.
I'm sure less stubborn,
lazy or unkind,
not prone to blame,
sarcasm or deceit.
It walks the day it's born.
You're life ain't rough.
Just nine months?
Twenty years is not enough.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011