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POT-BELLIED CHIEF

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): 
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Comments

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.

tr

A rekindled faith - Dancing in the Light

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