poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2007


Don't let my fender
Be a hinder
Don't let it bruise
Your legs in blue

If you get cross
Don't cross the street
I'd be a fool
If I were you

Stuck to my bumper
Are bumper stickers
If you don't fit in
You'll have to move quicker

Down the rabbithole
There was a rabbit
It runs away
If you don't grab it

I can't control it
It's a bad habit
If there is hunger
I can but ravish

All thats left is battered bone . . .

And these rolling rodents roam
In my dusty dried out tomb.