Hello pop-pickers Squawk! The Poetry Parrot turned up this morning to perch atop the Poetry Cafe and sound its barbaric yawp across the rooftops of the world. It left me with this poem about pants, by the American poet Stuart Dischell, from his new collection Evenings and Avenues published by Penguin in America. Let us hope this is the last word on underwear. Before he fluttered off in the general direction of Linda Kerr (who, as is customary, is now obliged to provide the next poem), the parrot asked me to mention that Hefner will be singing songs about sexy librarians at the Sinister Social tomorrow evening in Covent Garden (poetryplace2@easynet.co.uk for more details)... stevie trousers xxxxxxxxxxxx IN DAYLIGHT When I find a pair of underpants on the sidewalk, Womens or mens, I know theres a story behind them. If I am sad, I have a sad story that concerns A woman who sacrificed so hard for her family She lost so much weight her underpants rolled down Her legs, and she stepped right out of them, kicked Them off, not knowing until later, when she rested On the table at the clinic where she sold her blood, Why the crowd of donors was looking up her skirt. But if I am lonely, I tell a lonely story Of a man who had nothing but the clothes on his back And a few garments wrapped in a scarf on a stick. He lost his spare briefs, having come to our city To find his natural parents after the foster family Died in the fire he set. They did not pay attention. Now, without clean underwear, no one will ever love him. And if I am horny, I think up a horny story About the couple that met last night at Branns Pub, Who would not walk the distance to get at each other. In consequence, they merged quickly in the recess Between shops, her back pressed against the glass, He lifting her a little to get the right angle, Her panties dropped or discarded in the process. I head on home, feeling sad, lonely, and horny. I sense my own boxer shorts struggling to be free, To rid themselves finally of my hips and buttocks, To be pulled from my pants like some magicians trick, To flap in the wind and come to rest on the pavement, To show for all to see their inexorable statement About me, their judgment on my life, my flag of surrender. 34 +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list please mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". For list archives and searching, list rules, FAQ, poor jokes etc, see http://www.majordomo.net/sinister +---+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" +---+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+