Pond, woodcut by Frederick Nunley
Used here with his kind permission






 

 

 

 

 

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Pip Wilson

 

 

 

 

This is the blog where I post poetry as I find it in the fishpond outside the door of my garden flat.

 

 

 

 



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Friday, April 01, 2005

A few minutes later, Lum asks Gene the waiter,
"Tell me, why did your folks call you Gene?
Is it short for Eugene?" "No sir. Just plain Gene.
My mother, it seems, had a dream about genes."
"Why, her druthers is my ruthers! Know what she means.

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