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what's my name anyway?
by Charlie Morganshe hurt me deeply; nullifyied me; negated me.
the bank had no draft that i could scribble-on.
i didn't have a name anyway, it had been tossed.
because she had the light, the award, she took the bow.
somebody, that would be headless if i knew who, somewhere
thought her work on plants outdistanced mine on my grandson.
rags! spit! i tell you this life owes me. and big time.
there had better be a Jesus, 'cause bubba i need to talk.
oh, i'll properly kiss His hand; grovel[i know how to behave!]
and then i'll get Him a drink and a chair. he didn't sit much.
by then all will be well. what woman? what contest? what work? 01/21/2009 Posted on 01/21/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/21/09 at 10:21 PM "there had better be a Jesus, 'cause bubba i need to talk."--I can imagine. Heh. Great line, great poem. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 01/21/09 at 10:29 PM Great write Charlie! I need to have a few words with the old guy also but I fear I'll never be admitted to that inter-sanctum. Good luck with your chat. |
| Posted by Colleen Sperry on 01/22/09 at 01:28 AM I like the ideas you are working with here! |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 01/22/09 at 09:38 AM Do you really think that'll be the uppermost topic on your mind the day you offer Our Lord a drink??? *giggling* You're precious, as always, dear Charlie! |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 01/22/09 at 06:03 PM chaz, it's like you exorcised your irritation until we came down to jesus. and you're right, he sure didn't sit very much. he deserves a chair. |
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