Pots

My friend

Has curly hair

That always looks flat

Because of a hat

That reminds me

Of lint

That lives in my

Bellybutton.

He loves pots

Well, at least

Those with plants in them

He photographs them

Like they are models

Yellow and brown ones

Stripy and fat

Short and bushy.

I never asked him

Why he likes them

Maybe he might

Think I am weird

He probably lies

On his sofa

And dreams

Of a sea of pots.

It’s his birthday

Tomorrow

And I’m fretting

About buying him

A little

Flanged

Brown

Pot.

It’s nice having

Friends

Even strange ones

Like my curly haired

Hat wearing

Lover

Of

Pots.