Author: Mike Crowl

BREED your sons to be cast in the role of
CADET in whatever warfare service is your
CREED. Let them stand as men and
RIPEN. Pray the fruit won’t fail to seed.      

ANNOY me at your peril. I’m your legally
ELECTed representative. No matter how
STALE my policies, or my views, my
TURBO-charged charisma will see me through.

I
CHAFE at unfair treatment from the world’s biggest
CHEAT. I’d like to see him dropped into the world’s biggest
GULLY! Except that, as a believer in the
RISEN Christ, it’s better to heap coals on his head instead!  

[If I had another line, I might have added ‘LOL’…

I
BEGAN my longed-for meal, set alfresco, when
BELCHED around me, a vast intense excited
CROWD spreading cockroach-like across the pristine
GRASS. I stood, appalled, thought, ‘I have to
LEAVE, and leave my food here, or be overrun.’ A
MEALY-mouthed louse of a man pointed at my meal. ‘I
REUSE food scraps, convert them into art. I’ve been
SHOWN in galleries worldwide. Hence the crowd of fans.’

An
ALARM goes off in my somewhat
BURLY self, as my long-time ill-treated
COLON cries, ‘Sit down!, take a sombre
PAUSE, and think.’   

_{[Images of the colon were generally too gross to use!]}

BOOTH, the founder of the Sally Army, loved a
LUSTY noise, a joyful noise unto the Lord, a
NOISE that roused sinners to seek salvation –
WHINY sinners (or better, winey), with drinkers of beer and spirits too.    

I AWAIT my often-late mate at the
CROSSroads. Above me, a solitary
EAGLE slides skywide spying for
MEATY roadkill. Something
SLICKened or even, on a good day,
SOLID, will do, some poor life traffic-
TAKEN. The eagle rises higher for a
WIDER view.            

Two women named Ann gave their names to Ann ARBOR;
I’d like to have a harbour named after me, or get a MEDAL –
a Michael Medal – and then perhaps I’d rise up from the TRIBAL
like a tall poppy, boozy on a highball, and a little WOOZY.

GRASP my left hand when you shake and say
HOWDY; my right hand’s holding a parcel, or in your
LINGO, a package. Sometimes I wish I had a
THIRD hand, just for shaking; especially when tough hands crush!           

BRAVO! says the field owner as I
GLEAN the wheat near the fence. As
PAYEE of his gift I don’t want to
SKIMP on picking up every last grain.