Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

              Sunday Morning: A Dead ‘Possum and Broken Glass

After the buzzards pluck the ‘possum’s eyes
Like businessmen at the airport Holiday Inn
Choosing olives for their plates at the buffet
It will still be grinning at the sun

After the beer bottle’s empty promises
And the powderings of broken glass have worn away
Along with the tire-tread promises of ads
A cardboard temptress will still be grinning at drunks

“We moved 84,000 cases this month”
The latest life-partner pukes on the trailer floor

I have no place of mine
Up-to far and far from here
I see no people of mine
the criminal water with the flood
took everything away
the smiles and the dreams
the hope and the confidence
the people's laughter you hear underwater
Is the sound of my people's whine
up-to far and far I see no people of mine.