Sugarland Drive

Sugarland Drive

 

Sun drenched

in the dusty den

of some perverted old man,

I hit my knees

but not to pray.

 

Has it really come to this?

 

People came out of the woodwork

when I spoke honestly;

but only to listen,

then quietly

slipped away.

 

True confessions

of a learned life.

 

And he smiles

as he rubs the back

of my neck,

still clutching

a bottle of port

with a screw off top.

 

The dust

moves in waves,

settling momentarily

on my eyelashes,

making antique out of antiquity;

full of regret.

 

I hope he finishes soon,

this place is a mess.

 

And it could use

a woman’s touch.

Reviews

[Steve]

wow....my mind is wondering about this one.......

You have a nice style of writing by the way.......