Sunday, January 9, 2022

Hugh Seidman


           Lava

Six-month, street-ditched tot.
Psycho mom walks off.

ECT tit swapped for Dad.
Talk about mixed metaphor!

Shocked Mom comes home.
Babe’s bed at parents’ bulb.

Past it, Freudian strobe.
Had that shut sonny up? 

Did not talk until three.
Doc said: a spew, if ready.

Yes — fire smart, avid.
Cooled to paradox of rock.

Yet Mom spat: rotten brat.
E.g., babe nixes galoshes.

But — why not rebirth?
Not the re-screwed watts. (4)


No comments:

Post a Comment

Barbara Guest

  Santa Fe Trail I go separately The sweet knees of oxen have pressed a path for me ghosts with ingots have burned their bare hands it is th...