Pick a Subject & Price then Get a Poem

There he was. We saw him from across the street, hunched over a small table clicking at his typewriter. His fingerless gloves were olive green and his fingertips clacked quickly from one key to another. He didn't look up. He didn't get distracted. All he did was write poems quickly as if a muse were speaking into his ear.

My friend asked for a poem on Llamas. This is what happened:

Rising into air thoughts start much higher than me

But where do they go on runs a gallops

beating out such mammals like me

Or sit in stables waiting for haircuts

to then be let set free

What thoughts start at the heads of Llamas

and translate to people like me

Lynn Gentry

myspace.com/lynngentry

Llama

Haight & Ashbury

December 22, 2009