Poem: Bushwhacked

by Regis Boff

Poetry is the last thing

that would ever occur to letters.

The words  would testify if they could speak

that the process makes them queasy.

Most writers are ashamed to leave

an unintended verse.

Feeling they were bushwacked

while on their way to longer bursts.

But I prefer this short shit,

cause I know the reader will peek.