A Pretty Kettle of Poetry

The days end.The nights sendangels and ghosts.They notch you up on their bedposts.

Struggles off the busWith his pass and a fuss.Fought in France and Italy I’ll have you know! Full of pride and swollen ego,He widowers down the street.Every foot a mile with his feet. Deadly I was, used to knock’em in!Visited of an afternoon by his next of kin.Snapshots of better times on the mantelpiece. Literally… Read more