Sunburns


All the fun that one has in this life has a price.
Someone will come along quite willing to pay it.
Let us not get it wrong since we make more than rice
In fields where skins turn brown. Afterwards you can't sit
On roasted red hot marks at the peaks of the buns.
Vanity did its work but the things don't quite fit
The precise designs of the morning jogging runs.

For red faces don't suit everyone if at all
Specially some of those who practise zen or write puns
We shall not claim to know why one is ten feet tall
But people place people on higher pedestals.
A million every time someone kicks a round ball
Or midstride hits peak form in front of the portals
In full view of millions of silent onlookers.

The headaches are woeful: reminders for mortals
That x-rays penetrate through the heads of bakers
And project small unseen hexagrams on shadows.
But the thoughts of the scribes these days have no takers.
The adversary's backside will not take the blows
For he went and can't be punished now where he turns.
New voices chirp and burp facts as the expert crows
On the yacht and tall girls trade love for their sunburns.

Bevagna, 9 8 2008