Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2020
Cotton has a plantation,
It’s home in central Texas.
It might be your cremation.
Don’t drive up in your Lexus.

In the barn he persecutes.
Devices of mad torture.
Chainsaws, meat hook executes,
Diced and spilt into quarters.

The Bloodbath we fascinate,
Victims face he has gotten.
Oh my, he does dominate.
****** face here’s some Cotten.
This was based on my trip to Florida last week because I’m convinced Waze wanted to **** us.  It took down this back Texas road that looked like Leatherfaces home.  It’s done in Ae Freislighe, an Irish Quatrain.
Sheila Greene
Written by
Sheila Greene  45/F/Dallas, TX
(45/F/Dallas, TX)   
184
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems