NO WAY TO FIGURE IT

no
way to figure it when
you dine at Bongo Burgers &
they serve up a rare bongo in
a bun/ no
way to chew the skin &
make it in the least bit palatable
so you ask the counter girl

	"Where did you get this skin?"

& I see the bloody knife in her
hand & I look up & down my
body to see it skinned alive &
of course I fall
in love!

—Fritz Hamilton

All rights to this poem belong to its author.

---

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page