four poems
by Frank William Finney
No Room of Her Own
She has lost both ring and book.
She has chosen poison.
She keeps a ravasher-cum-
ravager in her room.
He eats in bed and soils the sheets.
Her burden burned
the best of her pride
and left its ashes
on the floor.
He sweeps the rug
with smelly socks.
He’s turned her toilet
into his latrine.
His lewdness turns
the scene obscene.
The whole place reeks
of swill and treason.
Theodicy
Nothing much to celebrate,
but I’m burning candles anyway.
Carrying cake in a punching bag
in case I crash a party.
O, famine, strife, and endless wars.
O, golfers on the green,.
But, hey, we’ve still got
cows to kill,
and Squeezy owns
a rocket.
So Many Arseholes in the World
Like the guy
who tastes
from every tap
before he picks
which brew to buy.
Like the Robespierres
who push for pain
while trying to run
their own Bastilles.
Like the sheep who bleat
beneath their wool
while the wolf
brings down the house.
So many arseholes seek the throne.
The planet’s pipes are cursed.
How many rolls need be unfurled
before the sewers burst?
Morbid Dick
swam overseas
in search of little fish.
He stalked their schools
and then turned tail —
a trail of Ahabs
in his wake.
He dodged harpoons
from sea to sea.
His blowhole
peters out.
One day
he’ll land on a barren beach
without a fin
to flout.
Photo of Frank William Finney (Photo by Elise Le Fay Finney)
BIO: Frank William Finney is a poet from Massachusetts who taught literature in Thailand for 25 years. A recipient of The Letter Review Prize for Poetry, his poems have appeared in Lowlife Lit Press, The Poetry Lighthouse, TrashLight Lit,The Wells Street Journal, and elsewhere. His chapbooks include The Folding of the Wings (Finishing Line Press, 2022), and Birds in a Boneyard (Bainbridge Island Press, 2025).