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I’ll not wed a pot bellied man
so do something to your stomach
A rounded bulbous bow bursting
Looking like an expectant mom

Couldn’t see my feet, peeking down
Nor that which makes me a real man
I take a glimpse at the mirror
A round earthen pot hanging down

Wondered what I have turned into
From that which I dreaded the most
The pictures of my forebears tell
Pot-bellied Chiefs sat on the throne

Seated in graced thespian poses
I ask myself in sheer dismay
Is this all it takes to succeed
The ancient stool of my bequest

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 


I loved the concept but felt I needed to have more. Can't be more explicit?

This piece is short but there are splattering on similar humour in the other pieces posted so far. Thank you and best wishes.


A rekindled faith - Dancing in the Light

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