Poetry: Poems by Claire

Erudite Old man McFinney sat, buck naked, on his porch. He pondered why it was, before this day, he never knew that underpants (with holes or no) make quite the lovely hat. Old man McFinney sat, buck naked, on his porch; he laughed at hoola hoops, the Monkey's Paw, and World War II -- and Mrs. Jayne across the street who'd pickled homeless cats. Old man McFinney sat, buck naked, on his porch. He pondered why it was, before this day, he never knew. Copyright © 1995 Claire A. Schaeffer