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SometimesStarPoems
Your wife gone, you snore asleep upstairs. A man with the vital essence of a Bull-- Connie's iron shoulders. A post-depression butcher of South Philadelphia, Our Mario the Butcher. Bumbling music follows you into the room Whistling Italian-American joy All the saints and their parade too "YEAH, TOMORRAH!" YOU. ARE. SUCH. A. COOL. GRANDFATHER. And what a man. From this generation to yours, the Greatest Respect! I love you and I love your style (Not to mention your Santoro smile) (genes) The stories hang from your brass jaw like ribbons You held out your giant hand and told me to hit it. Oh I'll hit it alright I'll give 'em a knuckle sandwich.
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Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
Mario (the Butcher)
Your wife gone, you snore asleep upstairs. A man with the vital essence of a Bull-- Connie's iron shoulders. A post-depression butcher of South Philadelphia, Our Mario the Butcher. Bumbling music follows you into the room Whistling Italian-American joy All the saints and their parade too "YEAH, TOMORRAH!" YOU. ARE. SUCH. A. COOL. GRANDFATHER. And what a man. From this generation to yours, the Greatest Respect! I love you and I love your style (Not to mention your Santoro smile) (genes) The stories hang from your brass jaw like ribbons You held out your giant hand and told me to hit it. Oh I'll hit it alright I'll give 'em a knuckle sandwich.
Written by
SometimesStar
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
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