I put wanted posters up
around the new water tower, where they
commit that crime.
Someone had sliced a smirk on a poster
a day later, another dozen were singed
like that fire.
So I ran about yesterday, shouting,
"Murder, murder, there's been a bloody murder",
Pedestrians became Olympic sprinters and my mother
she told me, "come home now".
An enforcer stopped me, demanding,
"Where did you see the murder?"
His eyes searched beyond me,
I said, "look around, you f*cker".
But no one ever hears over
The hungry hungry fire-breathing
caterpillar.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
