“The Ballad Of Lost Gnarlies” (A Poem)

by M. Anton Smith

“The Ballad Of Lost Gnarlies”

She has your Gnarlies

But you’ve told yourself

You don’t really need them

Like old golf clubs

You no longer care

If she throws them

Into a swamp

You are the more spotted

Married Western male

And The spots are hives

And you live in the tiny spaces

Between her harangues

You haven’t priced your freedom

And she swooped on the sale

One day you will be free

But your Gnarlies are gone

Forever