by Glen Martin Fitch

Used wrapping paper,
plastic cups, faux hair,
cliff hangers, instant coffee,
child-proof caps,
repeated jingles,
static, squelch, dead air.
Oh, every other driver,
cell phones,
snaps, all polka dots,
and pot-holes, power lines,
stringed lights, long cords and cables,
tiny type, those packing pellets,
pop-up windows, signs that flash,
most garnish, all election hype,
those cards that fall from magazines,
stuffed birds,
chewed gum, cheap sandals,
copy ink, frayed ends,
words mispronounced, misquotes
and made-up words,
my friends' ex-lovers,
worse! ex-lover's friends,
all surveys, pet hair,
floral scent shampoo,
rude waiters, shower scum,
cigar smoke,


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011