You know,we all have congenial tastes for art
The MEDICINEMAN,one you knew not of
Gray he looks,his youthfulness dissipated
His eyes pale and his skin skinny and sags
Near him was his daft blonde and gorgeous mistress
One who owned a grocery store,who pulled a cart
One whom he taught;
‘No just a little’ ‘warm or cold?’ ‘Sugared?’
There she lies,herself lifeless underground
Next there was the DOORMAN and the doorman’s dog
His life spent summoning taxicabs,
He turned back a pizza delivery of me-own some day
Well,there he lives,his lips loose
Thick drools of saliva issuing from within them
He sits,as if to ask “Lord,a little bit more time,then I’ll come!”
Not be forgotten the youthful PROFESSOR
Waiting for his share,
Trying to make his speech exact
And his audience finding it overnice,
Well,he died.
Now, then,dear reader,fortune has decreed
That you, this evening, shall be first to read,
Oh,who would even consider reading a poem
But if ye must heed,know to act
Before you spread this page and begin.
Uncle D
Duncan Kiplimo
Dunca9n 