Poetry by James Browning Kepple |

get out of your shell

a turtle with his flippers and long striped head
just pushed the door open and strolled in
he's not walking about over my girlfriends underwear
he's staring at the pastels on the floor and the empty easel
what he wants I have no idea as I sit in boiling water
he noticed my heat and is now in retreat back to the hall
what a shame of a soup I am