The Poet Community

Sunday Fodder | A Poem by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Another boring Sunday has arrived;
waking up with bed head and yawns
coffee and a bowl of fruit loops cereal
Sunday paper is three inches thick
the only thing worthwhile reading is
the Doonesbury cartoon segment.
Cat wants in and the dog wants out.
Take out a frozen block of something
will fire up the grill for dinner tonight.
I read a bit of the front page and find
inhales not here nor there but where
heartbeat quickens ravage souls afire.
The depravity towards all of humanity
desecrating a poverty of pious wealth.
Temptation bows only to those with
an inner strength of stainless karma.
On this rainy, cold Sunday morning
life begets tears of a soulless fodder.

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