Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2015
Saturday.
He fondles his roses
as little Beth walks by,
holding her mommy’s hand.
When mother and daughter
are up the street a bit,
he palpates petals,
lets thorn press into his crotch.

He is that nice old retired preacher
from the middle of the block.
He babysits Beth while her mommy
goes to the gym.

His predilections are private...
secret...
No one knows.
No one knows but little Beth...

and all the little girls before her.
Not everyone is who they seem and evil can live forever hidden.
Sherry Asbury
Written by
Sherry Asbury  Portland, Oregon
(Portland, Oregon)   
522
   Anto MacRuairidh and ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems