When you thought I wasn't looking,
I wasn't.
Why would I look at you?
Looking at you has become grotesque,
like seeing Hitler in a triple tutu:
on ice,
on his ass.

Your eyes are a dramedy,
your eyelashes withered,
your brow...drooping.

Would it help if we sang of our favorite things?

10/16/2011

Posted on 10/16/2011
Copyright © 2024 Eric Hinkle