Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
The tourists mill about on weary feet, seeming clueless of their final destination. It appears, at least, they've had enough to eat, as their clothes can barely cope with new inflation. I wait, impatient, for the street to clear. I resist the urge to honk my horn or more. These beefy bon- vivants from foreign shores move like the sacred cows of Bangalore!
0
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
Sacred Cattle
The tourists mill about on weary feet, seeming clueless of their final destination. It appears, at least, they've had enough to eat, as their clothes can barely cope with new inflation. I wait, impatient, for the street to clear. I resist the urge to honk my horn or more. These beefy bon- vivants from foreign shores move like the sacred cows of Bangalore!
john-f-mccullagh
Written by
63/M/American
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem