Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: Poetry

THE SOLES OF FEET

stubbed toe collapsed onto itself,

while nails made of thick polymer suffer the gravity of

a mahogany bookcase poorly constructed coming down upon them,

left to wiggle around bruised in their sweaty prison of synthetic rubber

glued together by time and the screeching hum of old sewing machine

made to look like they’re from the future

COMPLETE WHAT I STARTED

i worked really hard,

practiced daily,

kept at it despite the plausible thoughts of doubt and insufficient skill,

yet still i persisted,

to a certain annoyance,

but eventually, i became an expert in a dying field

that died a long time ago,

and no one really knows what it’s called

NOT ALL TRAILER PARKS CARRY THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

i’m waiting for the clown to make me laugh and spill their gutsabout all the tic-tacks left un-ticked and bare,while waiting outside your trailer park community’s gardenwondering how much manure it takes to grow strawberries this lusciousand roundand depressingand monumentally unfazed by the rest of the world’s disasters