finished

the troops were led across Russia…burning wheat along the way…starvation was the hope…boy when a plan backfires…

the Greyhound bus dropped-off women…children…drunken refugees…white men who’d hoped for more…and rap artists muttering to themselves…into the night…the early morning while the clean of America lay in comfort..
snug as a bug in a rug…

and where will the departing go to…dingy motel rooms…truck-stop showers…24- hour diners serving pie alamode…maybe a shelter for those without…or under a bridge on the far side of town as rain comes down….drowning nothing..

not hunger…not pain…not torment from long ago…not arrests nor warrants…or the craving of the afflicted…the addicted…the one that got away….

far away from suburbia…from 9to 5…from kids in kindergarten…from mom’s apple brown Betty served after Sunday’s sermon…far away from America…

to a place where poetry is heard…words are read….songs listened to…and wine can be bought on Christian holidays….

YOU HATE THIS COUNTRY SO MUCH THEN WHY DON’T YOU LEAVE….

buy me a ticket..
I’ll go…
I know when a party’s over….

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

Leave a comment

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