“The Binch,” by Rob Suggs

Every U down in Uville liked the U.S. a lot,
But the Binch, who lived Far East of Uville, did not.
The Binch hated U.S! The whole U.S. way!
Now don’t ask me why, for nobody can say,
It could be his turban was screwed on too tight.
Or the sun from the desert had beaten too bright
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

But, Whatever the reason, his heart or his turban,
He stood facing Uville, the part that was urban.
“They’re doing their business,” he snarled from his perch.
“They’re raising their families! They’re going to church!
They’re leading the world, and their empire is thriving,
I MUST keep the S’s and U’s from surviving!”
Tomorrow, he knew, all the U’s and the S’s,
Would put on their…

By John Grey

I look up at the north side of a huge frame house,
twice as wide, as high, as the one I live in,
rough pine shingles
brown with cream trimmings,
stained glass windows,
cupolas, cornices,
an architect’s history lesson.

How do you knock on the door of such a place?
What right has this fist?
A circular alcove, dark entrance –
this is not the way
to any place that will have me.

                
“When I’m not writing, I get anxious.” – the writer