The Poetry of
Jack Scott


Light as feathers singeing
in the hell of what might happen
to befall the glib of tongue
confronted with a thread of logic
convincing as a baseball bat.

The weight is waiting,
with hopefully no overload,
tied there by the overlord
to the overhead
to teach some manners
to a dinner guest
who’s lost his appetite,
but so far kept his head.


451 ®Copyright 1974 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.