Thomas Boling

I am a retired writer living in the Chicago area. Mostly I share my poems with family and friends, who are invariably kind and generous (and my dog, who gets paid in biscuits to listen to readings and doesn't complain). These poems are reflections on various myths.

“Atlas Shrugged,” “Minotaur,” and “Ark”

Atlas shrugged, farted, coughed
Scratched his crotch and squatted.
The ball rolled off his shoulders;
That was a relief. Comparatively speaking
He has no beef with living. Unlike
That guy Prometheus, his liver is intact
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