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More poems by William MatthewsWilliam Matthews | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by William MatthewsBooks by William Matthews

Sad Stories Told In Bars: The Reader's Digest Version

William Matthews

First I was born and it was tough on Mom.
Dad felt left out. There's much I can't recall.
I seethed my way to speech and said a lot
of things: some were deemed cute. I was so small
my likely chance was growth, and so I grew.
Long days in school I filled, like a spring creek,
with boredom. Sex I discovered soon
enough, I now think. Sweet misery!

There's not enough room in a poem so curt
to get me out of adolescence, yet
I'm nearing fifty with a limp, and dread
the way the dead get stacked up like a cord
of wood. Not much of a story, it is?
The life that matters not the one I've led.


Submitted by kw

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 22 Jan 2018 5:02 PM | Viewed: 5535 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/9267/ | Viewed on 22 January 2018.
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