Three Poems

 

In with the Shrink

He’s looking at ink-blots.

 

As each one’s held up

He’s asked “What is this?”

And his answer’s always

The same:

 

“Beautiful,” he says.

 

Tall as Sin

And he was one of those guys

Who likes to talk but never quite

Reaches a point:

Claimed his mother was a chicken,

Said he’d been, amongst other things,

A fish in his previous life.

 

Said he liked poetry.

 

Sucked his thumb a lot.

 

Most Nights

I’m just a boulder

But sometimes

(When the moon-

light’s just right)

I’m an egg.

 

Examine my skull.

 

Count the star systems.

 

 

Kevin Patrick McCann
Illustration Nick Victor


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