Sep 2013
The spiked shoes
smile.
Smile up the streaming,
dark alley.
A hoodrat lingers
stacking cheese
tweaking off his own
product.
He's short.
His whiskers are burning
with trouble.
At this point
his best interest
lies in hiding,
but the only
place he can find
is a dumpster.
But, maybe his head
needs to lie
where it belongs.
He's up to no good
and he's no good
to look up to.
He's short.
smile.
Smile up the streaming,
dark alley.
A hoodrat lingers
stacking cheese
tweaking off his own
product.
He's short.
His whiskers are burning
with trouble.
At this point
his best interest
lies in hiding,
but the only
place he can find
is a dumpster.
But, maybe his head
needs to lie
where it belongs.
He's up to no good
and he's no good
to look up to.
He's short.
So I was in a drug thinking mood after working on an assignment for my Psych class and transferred it to a poem I had write for my creative writing class. Hope you like it!
