One Crumbly Day: A Poem by Solomon Seasaw

One Crumbly Day

Robert Lewis Stevenson said that he never felt well enough to write one day in his life, but if he did not get out of bed, nothing would have been accomplished. Links to RLS at Amazon.com

Robert Lewis Stevenson said that he never felt well enough to write one day in his life, but if he did not get out of bed, nothing would have been accomplished. Links to RLS at Amazon.com


by
John Taylor Jones

I woke up
From my crumbly bed,
Stepped down and fell
Upon my head.

I scrubbed the teeth
In my crumbly mouth,
A tooth fell out—
That thankless louse.

A flame broke out
While I was frying bacon.
When my crumbly house burned down,
I became a vagrant.

The street cleaners came
To wash down the street.
I was soaked to my crumbly skin—
Which was not neat.

I was knocked into the gutter
By the water’s great power.
The police dragged me out with no little prudence.
I was tossed in the crumbly jail as a public nuisance.

The crumbly judge had no
Faith in me.
He sent me off
To the Penitentiary.

I spent twenty years
In that crumbly hole.
When I got out,
I became a mole.

That is what I am now,
A crumbly mole,
Afraid of his shadow
And no place to go.

The world is not kind
To this crumbly waif.
It’s because things didn’t go my way
On that one crumbly day.

The End

Denali: Painting by author.

Denali: Painting by author.

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