The Runt by Mark Tulin

Also appears in Virtual Library.

When I was a selfish little runt,

it was all about me.

It didn’t matter who I insulted,

what person I bothered.

Because I denied the fact

that I could make people cry.

I denied that I could do

an innocent person harm.

Now looking back,

those hurtful memories

return to me

like a smack in the face,

a boot in the ass.

It is my turn to feel the pain

from a selfish little runt

whose words burn in time.

©️mft

Poem: Sleepytime

No dreams
No restless legs
No Jiminy Cricket chattering
in my ear to keep me awake.

Just a deep sleep
with a train of Zzzz’s
that seemed to serpentine
above me
into the celestial night.

A pleasant, restful slumber
as if a fairy godmother had tucked me in.
As if she read my favorite story
in her soothing, sleepytime voice.

Nighty-night, my little son,
the fairy with fluttering wings said,
as she waved her magic wand
that glittered over my somnolent head.

©️mft