Poem-A-Day: Day 69

I.O.U. One Fish Stick, Bum

Fish sticks swimming in my ribs
like little dinner mints, stripping
my insides and filtering the silt
down around some other corner
than those whom overtly come
to stop me from doing whose works
I used under tunnels of smug, thuggish
grumps bunting fucked up luck, and
gulling up ugly, summer bum thumbs.