The Wheelbarrow Man
Ears flapping from side to side,
Long ears from long years,
Flapping to the veering head wind,
Dust cocooned,
Wheel barrow man,
Grunts and gushes like sewerage,
Chases the road end,
The end road from the
Bylane by the blind lane,
At the cross road to main street,
Tried tires and tired feet,
Dogged dog barking,
Popping poles and free parking,
With a baby in his,
Metal-bound, velvet-lined,
Hardcased, nursery-rhymed,
Wheelbarrow.
Old Madame Sosostris,
Eyes beset in layers,
And layers of wrinkled cheese,
Drugged dugs,
Drags her dripping arms,
Unwinds her window,
To sniff the breeze,
And voila, a dust storm,
She gives a sneeze,
Touches up her antique,
Silver hair passed on to
Her by the giggling ape,
Adjusts her nape,
And sees the wagging tail,
Of the wheelbarrow man,
And in his wake the,
Waving hands, lotioned legs,
Gargling voice of a gaggled face,
Wrapped in paper and duct tape.
