Just Pigs
If I have the Time
And you tend to list
In other words,
Acquire an inclination
Play Clementine, let’s say
Walk the chalk line
With whiskey
Kiss me-
And say all is fine…
Just get the inclination
Loaded with the lore
And dreams that burst
At the seams
And be tipsy
That rhymes…
With gypsy
You know the rules in this game
We live in places without a name
And we drink and look into the eyes
And dream up new, brand new lies
Witches brew
Mainly you
And you lips pucker and say
Swine
Be mine
Even if it is my poems
It isn’t me…
Eh Piggess?
It began decades back between the explicit songs in those way side tavern radios and clandestine searches for Lady Chatterley’s Lover. A brazen classmate, who targeted the English teacher confided… with tall stories!
We were gangling kids, black tufts on faces and places, we bargained for introductions to the skirted things, there were fights, we made up and hung around… hounding in packs and trying to run ahead of the pack too simultaneously. We were wolverine.
Soon the songs stole our hearts- college examinations, athletics and sports took over- we became ascetics and yearned till they gave in, bit by bit- they too had fights, and surrendered.
We found girls, those succulent fruit shops, the deodorants and the divas merged at times in limited edition explorations, or at the indoor courts games and late night candle lights… we became Spielberg fans in midnight séances, seldom caught in our compensating acts, counterfeiting love since the majority of our souls lay submerged in fudge.
We slowly cancelled our pledges- we found with alacrity, methods of giving up, moving on, gathering no dust, no moss, unopposed, we found intimacy, bodies hardened, the beard now bristled.
License!
Recent Comments