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Poems by Ace Toscano
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Metaphorically
Speaking

Don't tell me it's the color
Of a dress your sweet love wore
Or that fond memories
It rekindles at first sight.
Don't waste your time pursuing
The perfect metaphore.
Just say it straight out -
The fucking snow is white!

 
From the collection Swamp People

Mama's Untimely Dying

Hurry, call the ambulance
'Cause Mama's 'bout to die.
She told us all this morning,
Though she didn't let on why.
Maybe it's a stroke--
She has one of them a week.
Her doctor don't believe it,
"That dumb-ass rag-head Siek."
Or one of her diseases--
Lupus, Graves, or Crohns.
She's attacked from every angle--
Her heart, her lungs, her bones.
Wait!
There's been a change of plans, now.
Turn the ambulance away.
Mama says she won't be dying--
It's beauty parlor day.

 

For My Aunt
Upon Her Retirement

There was an employee named Nancy
Who was feeling decidedly antsy.
She said, "I'm going to retire,
So, until I expire,
I can do whatever I fancy."

 

Love Bugs

Love bugs.
Rate 'em
Worse than
Skeeters.
Hate 'em.

 

Mr. Bottomley

Well, Mr. Bottomley
Your frontal lobotomy
Has been a great success.
Frontal Lobotomy?
Yes.
Frontal Lobotomy?
Yes.
Frontal Lobotomy? Yes?
Yes! Thanks to me
Mr. Bottomley
And your frontal lobotomy
You've been relieved
of all torment and stress.
Frontal lobotomy?
Yes.
Frontal lobotomy?
Yes.
Ohhh, frontallobotomyyes!

 

A Form Poem

Scre wing
Up Those Chermans
By Ace Toscano, Limo Driver
I've never driven on the Autobahn
(though guys with ties I drive to JFK, who
fly Lufthansa to Chermany, drink warm beer, and rent
Jettas, tell me all
the time they do it);
still, I'll bet anybody a
half a yard that if ya
could zap three New
Yorkers, whose fat wives
hang dimpled elboes
out passenger-side
windows while they suck
down Dunkin' Donuts
and litter Route 80 with
white waxed paper,
along with four old farts
up from Punta Gorda,
off the Interstate Express
and into the Autobahn's
lefthand lane, then,
despite all the regimen
tation, in no time flat,
thoroughly up
they would
screw
it.

 

Promise Land

Too many spicks,
Too many spooks,
Too many micks, and
Too many gooks,
Too many guineas,
Too many jews,
Too many aye-rabs
And fucking hindus --
Welcome to America!

 
From the collection Swamp People

9-12-2001

They sit around the trailer
Cracking jokes about nine-one-one--
Oops! Missed the runway, hee hee hee;
Stick a fork in them, they're done--
And the old lady bitches
'Cause her Cosby isn't on.

 

The Year of Unrest

Protests on the Mall, today -
Throwing out the Government.
But, I'm lunching out at Mickey Dee's.
Otherwise, I would have went.

 

My Xmas Poem: A Mean Man Named Ho
My Pool & Billiards Stories & Poems

 
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