the glove box poet
by Robert Roley
gone downtown heard some old geezer gassin’
they can’t take nothin’ from you once you’re skint
holy marginalia
rat can!
upright gait
opposable thumbs
laying on shackles of spiel
in the rhyming
of grifters and lords
only the scabrous
repetition of platitudes
the myth
of the homogeneous man
gripped in the fanciful
seethe of certainty
if only they’d speak
i’d plagiarize the gods