"wantit" poems
He runs his thumb
under th' throat
in a menacing manner
tae th' jimmy
sittin' in th' witness kist
wha gazes his wey.
Na word spoken,
juist th' gesture o' harm,
if wantit.
He sits back,
his een
nae goin awa
th' witness,
his coupon
as if chiseled
oot o' granite.
Th' witness
is lost
fur wurds,
his nerves tightened,
his guts ache
as if torn by birds.
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 9:41 AM UTC