Poetry from H.R. Creel

Mad King
a mad king sits on his high
horse, remote control
in hand
his castle smells of feet
and old milk
his reign an endless one
of terror until his wife
doesn’t answer from the
polka dot bedroom.
Road Map
I’ve got a road map
to the stars
Going to meet a famous
person or two
Maybe one of them
will offer to marry me
and we will walk on celluloid
A forever fantasy life.

Fish Tattoo
the man who threatened
to beat my ass
has a fish tattoo
I picture it swimming
away and wish it would
go upstream much faster.
Forget the threats
Forget the way they made
Not worth it, he tells himself,
pushing through judgment
To a place of iron.