Feather Bend

Once a feather bend in a row

Fiery nuptials in a throw

Lubed crosshairs on her palm she goes

Round the teapot: Thar she blows

And so I love my M-16

Buttered Rum and Maybelline

My checkered trench coat tourniquet

My chinny-chin-chin thicket

A writ by any other name

And a gold watch for the tame

You’re a good egg and all that jazz

Honey rubbed on my topaz

So now I sit here all alone

Drips of coffee and a scone

I watch the feathers bend outside

Once Diana really cried

Only once lest her arrows wilt

Bouquets wrapped in a stained kilt

For the gold star heaving nipples

And priests in their starched Wippells

And so I hunch over my cane

Blessed be my Mary Jane

Smoke ’em, if you got ’em

And a feather in my cap

Four score and seven years

Isn’t it pretty to think…

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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