1 day walking
I saw a guy raking up my leaves.
I punched a motherfucker.
No, I didn’t.
I lied.
I wasn’t e’en walking.
I didn’t want to lose my warm blanket.
But the leaves were raked, either way.
I haven’t seen them since.
They’ll be OK, maybe.
(dot dot dot)
¡Itchy blanket!
VIVE COME UN RASTRILLO Y UN HOMBRE JOVEN
2016 November 30
Posted in Poetry