Mart-deBlog

an ode and a woe
to roads' flat sorrow
so slow its moving
in the urban meadow
behooving its go
only the longing
for tongueing a fly
and a cry for more
the roar of an orgy
and tadpole galore
sad lore of its wishing
butt cheeks squishing
instead of that dread
the down-swishing axes
chopping the hopping
ending reflexes
of plumb bumpy legs
tea, eggs and congee
see how I scoop
and plea, why o why me
a group of them flocking
in my fucking soup.