MY KIND OF POETRY

she leaned drunkenly
against the universe as if all
the stars were there to support her

her hair unruly
as an orchestra tuning up
always the lost chord of a curl

her voice rumpled
like clothes that had been
slept in for a week

her mind always
the proverbial rabbit caught
in the headlights of life

but boy could that girl
rumbarumbarumba
"She's my kind of poetry!"