Old Poem

I’m going through / clearing out a ton of old shit and I just came across this poem I wrote between ten and fifteen years ago called GIRLFRIEND:

It tears me apart
To stare in your eyes,
See the joy in your smile,
And realize you have 86 rows of teeth.

I don’t care about most of my old shit but this actually made me laugh out loud.  It also reminded me to get on my knees and thank Whoever for my wife.  Seriously, Whoever, thank you.


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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