Poem: A Cliché
By: Matthew R Moore
As the crow flies ass backward,
As the bats scream in the belfry,
As you beat a dead horse,
You lost me.
I know I don’t have a leg to stand on,
The goose is cooked, so it goes,
And I can take that horse to the water,
But I can’t make a dead horse drink.
You and I, we have parted decency,
We’re the song and dance of poisoned wells
And now we can never go home again,
So call off the dogs of our future.
Today, is the first day
Of the rest of my cliché,
Away from wherever
You’re jumping off your figurative rocker.
_____________As he crawled into bed next to her.