cleaning up
after a bill of good health
and healthy proportions
I find poems in the mags to be
thrown out, poems of mine
when the charms of my body clock
chimed in the bell tower and I
flourished with a pen
in each hand
'loose-lipped andy' they called me
as I paper mached Australia
with my Ginsberg impersonations
and cantoed with a rock band
I don't wear my trousers rolled
but I walk upon the beach
smiling fatherly at the waitress
in the sand drenched cafe
waves advance and retreat
I think of all the poems I have written
as I throw crumbs to seagulls
and whistle Coltrane's *Ole
*
--
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/aburke/
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