John-Ward Leighton

FRUSTRATED

slightly nauseated
feeling like I’ve been short dated
well past my best before date
a buck short
and a half hour late
my face itches
and my mind bitches
and if I was on any kind of a highway
I’d be laying tits up
looking up my own asshole
in the trash filled ditches

a siren sweeps past to disturb the rhyme
for someone else’s crisis
I wonder if the rescue will arrive in time
or if some dumb shit has breathed his last
I wonder about the when and the where
and also if I really care
self administered slaps in the face
to wake me from this state of grace
a shiver in my gaunch
and perhaps a shower just before the year end lunch

I review the verse
as the funeral parade reveals the hearse
a box on its way to ashes
to fly away and never be seen again
and a life once lived
rapidly to disappear
in my rear view mirror
its been a year and change
since good friend Al
passed over to the other side
but his good memory in my mind still does reside

the sun skids by on the Southern horizon
and I swatch my face yet again
and a trombone noise from the nether regions
pollutes the air with memories
smells that are mildly
how can I say it
nauseated
and yet another day passes searching for my muse
inundated
in the wonders and freedom of verse
but in tones quite perverse
while the year 2010 slips silently away
frustrated