OUR FORMERLY WITTY SELVES

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“You’re a wimp” said he

With Fire on his breath

His words were crisp

Like the crackle of death

And my friend whose message

Of Ooh La La

Became instead one of Oom Pa Pa

Said “yes”,

To the voice of his Alter.

Not once did he dare to falter.

Identified then as an arrogant prick

He wasn’t really (Perhaps he is sick)

Of what (Who knows) could it be that he

Forgot who he was and thought he was me

(As usual in search of another Rhyme

I seem to have run out of time.)

By Lee Broom

Posted May 10, 2013 by Lee Broom in Love, poetry

Tagged with space dust

 

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