Ridiculous name given
to a myth of a hideous animal
whose only escape plan if captured
is to turn itself into wetness and salt

There’s a tramp on a dirty road
He carries a squonk he has caught
in a dirty sack
thinking he’s really got something here

This man has some typical issues
Typical pain writ large upon him
Wraps himself for daily cover
in typical sad old clothes

He’d trapped sorrow in the wild
Hoping to tie his own to its back
Hoping to set it free and watch it all go
All he has now to show is a stain

That bag on his back has sprung a leak
The squonk falls in drops in the roadside dirt
Hemlock springs up in each little crater
marking a sting flavored trail

He’s stuck with all he came in with
and a sad myth of a squonk trapped in a bag
Who will believe he once had pain contained
and dared to believe that might make him happy

A tramp on a road with a bag holding nothing
A man soaked to his skin with damage and coping
It’s enough that he thought he might get away
Enough for the moment at least till tomorrow


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

4 responses to “Squonk

%d bloggers like this: