(23)
If you don’t have laugh lines and crows feet
the forehead crinkles of surprise and delight
have you even lived enough? A round
soft tummy to lay my head in bed?
Hell yes. What would we even talk
about otherwise? You’re only
as old as I feel you are. If that’s
male gazy you have my entire attention.
I’m balding gray, with my own belly reservoir
wrapped around the hips like a gunslinger’s
belt. But good bones underneath.
Plumbing works but the wiring acts a bit
haunted. If I don’t get an offer soon
I’m gonna blow a 50-amp fuse.
Stop Reading Berryman’s Sonnets, Dammit
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 
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