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By Slim Randles

Alphonse Wilson here, jest celebratin’ a nice day with poetry. Yessir. I thought I’d do some poetry today just to see if you’re in the mood. Well, if you ain’t in the mood, I guess you could go fix a cup of coffee or something and wait for me to finish, but that would hurt my feelin’s exponential-like and you’re not the kind of person to do that, are ya?

Thass right. So Windy, you’re prolly askin’ yourself, how do you go about writin’ a poem? You were? Good. It really ain’t so very hard, you know. You just gotta sling yerself into a artistical mood. You know, like them Dutch masters used to do afore they died and got made into seegars. You start out kinda easy, and think about lilies and daffodils and leetle fluffy cloudlets that might grow into a storm someday. Then you throw in a look that a puppy gives you … one a-them looks of love like just before he throws up on the rug. That’s how you do it. Then you just get a pencil and a piece of paper and have at it.

So here’s my poem today. I call it “Circulational Quandary” by Alphonse Wilson. But I still go by Windy, a-course.

 

I wandered lonely as a heart

That sends my corpuscles through waiting veins

And all the might of pumping blood

Couldn’t hold onto them reins.

 

Bold rider, never, never canst thou smooch

Lady Fair upon the mouth.

Nay I say to you naysayers

Or just keep ridin’ south

 

Oh beats my heart with laughing

At corporational cruds,

I right now feel like quaffing

A six pack of good suds

 

And though you come out bleedin’

And need a tranfusional fix

It sure beats hell out of weedin’

The garden out here in the sticks.

 

Well, there it is … do you feel transformationalized? Me, too.

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Pick up “Home Country: Drama, dreams and laughter from the American heartland” www.lpdpress.com.