12 July 2008

Yellow Stars


There was a smelly
Blue sock in the middle of the field
There were yellow stars
On the sock, just one sock

How could I tell
Whether the yellow-starred sock
Was smelly for real?
I did not pick it up

And smell it
Or at least that's what
I'm telling you


In a corner of the park
With the smelly, blue, yellow-starred sock
An old dog handler
Practised his favourite dog


Along the park's fenceline
A group of Alice Cooper's children
Sat in a circle like hippies
Smoking the best dope in the world

My dog ran into the middle
Of the hippie circle and
Inspected each little doper
Like they had just arrived from Baghdad

"I think that dog
Must like the smell of dope
Hey mister can I give your
Dog a hit?"

On the way to the
Park's exit gate I walked in
The Long Shadow of a tall tree
and thought of Anne Murray

4 comments:

Jon said...

You're still the best Anne Murray poet around.

Mr. Beer N. Hockey said...

I am the Bruno Gerussi of Canadian poetry.

Jon said...

I agree. I like to think of myself as the Bill Cullen of electronic literature.

ib said...

Nice poem (opium ?), Beer. And you don't want to know what that picture of those knee-length socks does to me...