As February nears, poetry returns. This one is from one of Port Angeles’ finest, Jerry Kraft.
Bottle neck of beauty rolling up the
yellow-tiled tunnel to the express lane.
I do not want to be
remembered for my urine.
In this I differ from
the chowchow and Welsh corgi
who yearn to soak the earth…
There once lived a young scorpion
Who was always sick from her own poison…
Whenever she’d strike with her tail,
The back of head would get impaled.