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No Fan of Ham

17 May
it looked like a big desert kitty box
the military base twenty-nine palms
in the seventies i was stationed there
a member of the u.s marine corps

but there were no palms, we called it the stumps
if we were done with daily duties then
the joshua tree monument close by
a cactus looking like long scary arms

the party there on cheap wine and warm beer
a strange dark night met there a man-like gnome
when we balanced sitting on canyon stair
of this i'm quite sure we were drunk and stoned

his old hippie label was pisces tom
this lonely cat was living off the grid
the hidden life of a wild hermit guy
surviving in a bamboo forest shed

he raised a huge hog he wanted to sell
to catch the pig but he needed some help
said he would pay us what he could afford
some other drunks and i agreed to schlep

directed us to a wide bamboo grove
the path cut an oasis of green poles
a clearing opened up a center place
arriving we saw the hippie's hut house

the fenced-off pig sty with a giant hog
and even though we still a whole lot sloshed
this job was much much more than we could cog
the old hippie had a stalled junker car

this nut wanted to tie the hog woozy
however refused to get in the door
the high-pitched squealing fight was a doozie
it was lashed to the old car's trunk seat floor

the broken down junk heap didn't run too well
the stalled engine forced tom to coast downhill
the market was fifty long miles away
a dollar per pound pisces got his pay

reviving his pocket with bit of ham
his helpers, tom cobb and i, got our spam
the sobering factoid with my twitches
a fierce grunt for measly spam sandwiches






3.9 10/10
© Brian Peter Hodgkinson    
 
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Posted by on May 17, 2022 in Poetry

 

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