Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I remember the day when we went out for a drink or two I remember it so vividly in this old box of mine that rests wearily upon my shoulders I recall taking you back to work "I'll pick you up at eight" I said to you I did Then of course we called up the old gang you and I and went in search of mayhem loose women and looser talk Not much on the former, eh, o' buddy o' mine Oh no, but plenty of the latter which is usually the case You had just been introduced to a **** cider that you gulped like a drowning musk rat then you were sick and we called out the staff who hurried and hustled with a bucket of their finest tap water I watched in hysterics as I patted your back and watched the street lights as they made your innards glisten AND THE SHINE! Oh, that perfect shine as the water washed away your remains Poetic foreshadowing I am afraid, mate as a bucket called Cadillac washed up your remains many years later over the asphalt AND THE SHINE! Oh, that perfect shine that a once pure immaculate light that was your enduring spirit had waned long before the wax melted.
0
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Shine
I remember the day when we went out for a drink or two I remember it so vividly in this old box of mine that rests wearily upon my shoulders I recall taking you back to work "I'll pick you up at eight" I said to you I did Then of course we called up the old gang you and I and went in search of mayhem loose women and looser talk Not much on the former, eh, o' buddy o' mine Oh no, but plenty of the latter which is usually the case You had just been introduced to a **** cider that you gulped like a drowning musk rat then you were sick and we called out the staff who hurried and hustled with a bucket of their finest tap water I watched in hysterics as I patted your back and watched the street lights as they made your innards glisten AND THE SHINE! Oh, that perfect shine as the water washed away your remains Poetic foreshadowing I am afraid, mate as a bucket called Cadillac washed up your remains many years later over the asphalt AND THE SHINE! Oh, that perfect shine that a once pure immaculate light that was your enduring spirit had waned long before the wax melted.
alexander-lloyd-twyman
Written by
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem