On the Writing of Poultry

On the writing of Poultry
By Tony Robles

I was sitting eating
A tuna sandwich in a
Small park when this
Guy walked up to me

The guy’s face covered
The sun that had been
In my face and he said,
Hey, ain’t you the guy
Who wrote that book of poultry?

Yeah, you mean the
Book of poetry, I answered

Yeah, that’s
The one

i saw it in the bookstore
window and i wanted to
buy a copy but it was 16
dollars, kind of high, you
know. I mean, i gotta eat

And he looked at me
For a moment, as if
Reading me

And I gave myself
A quick glance and I
Seemed to be real, tuna
On my breath and hairs
Sprouting from my arms

And the guy
Was real, the SF Giants
Shirt clinging to his torso
Like the memory of a dozen
Lost loves

And he opened his
Mouth showing a regal
Row of gold teeth

Yeah, I like
Your poultry
He said

I don’t read too
Much poultry, he

(Sheeeit…I don’t never read
No poultry, he added, under his breath)

But the shit
You wrote in your book,
That was some heavy
Shit, some good poultry

I wish I could
Write some
Poultry like that

“You can” I answered

I don’t know, man, he
Answered, every time I
Try it comes out: Roses
Are red, violets are blue…
And I’m stuck

I mean, it’s like sitting
and taking a crap and
nothing happens,
you know what i mean?

Yes, i answer, I’ve
had that experience
on many occasions, I
have written much crap

And we sat
For a moment

I broke off half
Of my tuna
Sandwich and he bit
Into it with his gold teeth

And we spent some
More time talking
About poultry while the
Sun listened in

Roses are red
Violets are blue


(c) 2015 Tony Robles


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