The Switchers. [On continuing]. A poem by A. Q.

April is one cruel motherfucka

Useless Hotel slippers overlap
With shabby grey sensible

Tom’s ethical pumps
and fila flops
I sit in my blue shirt bought in Amerikay
In under resplendent orange fizzy pop

The cushion of
The need to insulate the ears from what?
No plane
Clear skies
Until jets fly low
Nowhere to hide

Time to look inside

Regardless of that stinking ting called sin
I suppose it is nice to not have a dog collar on –


A. Q. has been writing poems since childhood and has never sold one…..yet! You know the drill, “Doing other stuff”.

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