I know where
the poems are hiding.
They’re inside that
bottle of Scotch…
about half way down.
They’re good poems
too..
not those low life bastards
that tuck themselves away
inside cans of beer.
Nor those sensitive
ones,
found half way down
a bottle of wine.
But good, down to earth
hard-core poems,
that scream the truth
and challenge
you to fight.
I’m just the man
to go after
those fuckers
you know.
I’ll drag them
screaming from
that bottle
and nail them down
for all to see.
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