Lemon ice

I wish he’d turn my water to wine
and give me some fish,
with bread,
I could dine like a King.

I got nothing between here and
the Devil of the track that I took,
look at me
see poverty,

honesty may be the best policy
but I missed the installments.

The undertaker makes no fuss,
sour puss won’t bury me
unless
I cross his palm with coin
of the realm.

I laugh, but
he’s the captain at the helm
and
I’m a drowning failure.

Are you quick on the draw
or a raw kid?

I wander and really don’t care
poetry’s where you find it,

mind it
sometimes bites, but
mostly it just kisses
your lips.

© 2016, John Smallshaw.