Poem Hunter
AS (20 Nov.1950 / Yerevan, Armenia)


We had one for the road
And could hardly drive
Crashed into a cement wall
Thought it was a joyride
Trashed and bleeding
He lay there
Until the cops arrived
'The son of the gun is
Dead as a doornail'
Was the last he heard
Before his soul flitted
Up and away
Into the heaven above

User Rating: 2,5 / 5 ( 1 votes )

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.