Frank Giampietro
Teeny Tiny, The Poem
Who will turn down their little girl socky socks
to reveal the outline of a glittery pink heart?
Who blows their snotty, little noseys?
Not I, says the orange tiger purring on your lap.
Nor I, says the blonde hunk of manly man.
And so,
the couch receives another stain,
this letter of intent, a co-signer.
Does that tickle the back of your throat too?
Speaking of—
the dragon flies are through with Panacea,
but no-sir not the gnats,
they get past your dang hairy
hairs. And you left from where—to come here?
says squeaky park swing.
You don't say? No, no, don't
say. Well,
we are turning in now.
Shall I flick-off the lighty light honey?
Sogni doro
bella donna,
for you we would staple your hair.