frogcircus.org

the poetry of Charles Fry

post

2015–

defi

2009–2013

belle

2007–2002

dada

2002–1999

sundance

1999–1997

frere

1997–1995

julian

1995–1994

stone

1994–1993

17 December 1996

my small trip to the cement factory

One day I thought it would be fun to
see what cement tastes like.
So I put on my overalls and started rolling my wheelbarrow
downtown to the cement factory.
I stopped at outlet #133 and filled up a little more than
half way.
We carefully backed out and started the trip home.
With my right hand I stirred to keep it soft
and my left hand pushed with all his might.
When I passed the fourth cement factory
I started wondering if
maybe something wasn't a little
suspicious.
The fill-up outlet delegater looked at me and said
"Hey mister, that be the fourth time you come round
this here cimint factooory."
That was when I figured I'd need to push
with 2 hands to go straight.
Tried that for a bit but the cement started getting
thick.
Looking around I saw no one wearing overalls
so I bent over and started stirring with my tongue.
That was okay at first but my neck started
getting a little sore.
And for some reason the cement was
becoming harder and harder to
turn.

 forgotten memories   of being burned at the stake   sweet dreams   sharing   hand-in-hand   the stranger   hidden courtyards   holding You   princess   happy day   loneliness   fragile, handle with care   my small trip to the cement factory   dedication   this record is for You   the day that I cried   Last night I woke up under my bed.   my silver Dancing shoes   Man my heart tears.   the three things   strait jackeght   like you   abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz   Fire cooks me   Princess Alexandra:  A Little Story   cats up cat twice   sweet rain water   little children   my heart   How blind I am in wooden glasses.   I know she's crying cause it stains her voice,   Dear Family,   I pound at my heart   We run away from the ice cream truck   purple sunset   J. Elephant   so i walk up to you with this   the Soul queen   so, you say that i do not speak   window   dear sweet old Ordinary   i am a Harp