Last Place
Why is it that whenever
you lose something,
it seems that it’s always
in the last place you look?
Well, speaking
just for myself,
it’s because when I find it,
I stop looking.
Roses May Be Red, Among Other Colors,
but violets are not blue,
damn it; they are violet.
Beauty is not always truth,
no matter how you beguile it.
A fact remains a fact,
even though you revile it.
No, violets are not blue,
my friend; they are violet.
And manure is just manure,
no matter how high you pile it.
Roderick Bates edits Rat’s Ass Review. His own poems appear in The Dark Horse, Stillwater Review, Naugatuck River Review, Cultural Weekly, The Asses of Parnassus, fēlan, Three Line Poetry, Last Stanza Poetry Journal, Ekphrastic Review, and Anti-Heroin Chic, among others. He also writes prose and won an award from the International Regional Magazines Association for an essay published in Vermont Life. He lives, writes, and edits in southern Vermont.