he lives at the bottom
of a bottle of tequila.
He is unstoppable
leaves a trail of shit behind him
but the girls all love him
even when they see him
standing up alleys saying
"smell the fish"
and waving his index finger
and middle finger together
a gloating gesture
the smell might waft casually over
hit you so hard
you'll have black eyes all week.
But he's a worm
he'll play until he's
on a fish hook
or carried away in some bird's beak
This poem created great images in my head. I liked that the line "smell the fish" (which is funny) leads to "he'll play until he's/on a fish hook. Nice internal connection! The last line is great. It left me wondering if the "bird" owning the beak had feahters and flew, or if the "bird" was slang for "female human," that was Clever and poetic justice for "Worm." Liked it a lot. Joseph Hargraves
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