Poem: Oh, Marion
girl on the street, leaning against the wall
he talks to her each time he passes – she’s painted just beyond his reach
when seasoned on alcohol, insides nearly pickled, he talks to her and her raised skirt. She Must be listening as she does not say a thing.
Love is an easy game.
He could fall in love with this woman who does not interrupt…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Sounds Good! to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.