A Poem About Some Sweet Pants

I have pants
These pants are blue
These pants are of no importance to you
For they are my pants

Every morning I pull on my pants
Because I can wear them without a belt
They are my favorite pair of pants
And I have never washed them

My mom bought me these pants
I said, “ I want those pants.”
She said, “Are you sure?”
I said “Yes.”
I got the pants

Teachers look at me and say
Young man, you might go far someday
(I think it’s the pants!)
I like these pants

I wear my pants in my van
I wear these pants despite the heat
I can stick it to the man
In these pants

If you saw a picture
of these pants of mine so dear
You would scoff, wrinkle your face
And say, “ Those are but pants.”
But I like these pants

I can dance in these pants
Which would be great
If I could dance
Some things cannot be helped
Even when wearing these pants

I walk the town in these pants
I spy on people, too
Around the corner, I see France
Maybe soon, I’ll see you

You will say
“I like those pants”
And I will think you cute


And we will dance
In our pants
For I can dance, with you.





_DZ

perpetual motions in A#m

tattered necktie on a rusted fence

sidewalk bricks, laid in a sequence

decrepit stone and lifeless glass

no reflection, facing sunday mass

the sixties dodge, four seats, infest

a skull tattooed on the passenger's headrest

walk the streets, past all the homes

past the graveyard, all alone

the wind in your eyes

cause the tears on your face

blowing the curtains

of the coffee shop lace

a wind eluding every gaze

nowhere to be found,

in the twisted city maze

close your eyes, let it race past

a smile on your face

you've found it at last

Dawn gently brakes,

With my window open.
Have I what it takes
To make this day happen?

To make this day worth it?
To help mankind profit?

I question myself. Then,
Despite the high stakes,
My face starts to soften
As dawn gently breaks.