(20 minute poetry)

Popeyed
I look at the goil with the olive complexion
and the ink drips like oil from the well of my fountain
pen.

It was always the goil that Bluto desired as Wimpy ate burgers
looking awfully tired.

Though Popeyed I tried
to make Bluto see
that the goil in question
was the goil for me.

Lliving a cartoon is like life on the moon where there's no air to breathe, but being here where the atmosphere is rare unlike the burgers that Wimpy won't share
is fine.

The goil is mine and if I eats my spinach there will come a time
when I knock
Bluto out.

(It always sounds like goil to me when Popeye says it.