Those Were the Days
Once obsessed
with search for
purpose–observing every
asshole who walked
down the street,
I’ve now become
the creator of old
goats’ milk.
Rarely leaving the house.
Peering out the window,
Watching the young
and decrepit struggle
to push themselves
out the door.
Since most of
the outlaw poets
have taken their ball
and gone home…
There are no more
takers of having
one or ten at the
local dive, letting
out a primal scream
into the jukebox,
Play some Rock and
Roll that will let
me throw away
my hard-on pills…
No, I guess I’ve
disappeared—jogged
into the jungle and have
never been found
Or even looked for…
©Dan Provost all rights reserved
Dan Provost’s poetry had been published throughout the small press for many years. His latest chap, Wear Brighter Colors–was published by Analog Submissions Press. He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura.