©2019 by POV Publishing. 

Don Ryan

See No Hear No Grass Grow

 

Quiet sat I

On a rock on a world

And silly-scraped I

As my blonde hair curled

In the coffee pot heat

Not quite so hot

Sat I with no ears

As my eyes were not

Danced he wee wee man

In me chalkboard head

Faint painting green

All the life that lived dead

Like fat fat red red birds

And the grass soft became fingered hands about me