Poor

In dry pocket there’s a moldy wallet,
Reeked cents more than flash trouser legs.
Stretched out his legs in the backseat row,
Skimped the poor box, couldn’t give another cent,
Stretching out his hands, with tears streaming down, to receive the wooden box, littered with empty shells and coins
All thoughts and songs.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.