The Fungus on my Wall
poem
Regina Z.
The rock under the polar bear;
it joins me now for tea.
The one louse living in my hair,
smiles angrily with glee.
I read Tolstoy for dinner while opening my mouth.
The Negro in my cupboard is coming from the South.
The Indians: they own the land,
they pray to the dolphin fin.
Before you take my filthy hand,
think of where it's been.
The walrus told me it is time,
to wax my ears with soap,
I tell him this poem doesn't rhyme
and mail him to the Pope.
The thyroid gland begins to sing,
of pixies and beluga whales,
The lesbian bee starts to sting,
while staring at my snail.
The holy Buddha meditates,
he knows not what he knows,
When I end this, I won't hesitate
My last word will be Toes.
The Fungus on my Wall COPYRIGHT 2006 Regina Z.
Reproduction prohibited without permission from the author.
02/28/06
