A Weed, Not a Flower
I had a long roll, and have extra cash to spare.
However, for somebody like you, I don’t care.
I see that usual wave of a beckoning call.
With your type, I am not interested at all.
You are here on the street corner at Pacific Avenue.
I know the reason for your presence, and what you do.
Guys can have you for a price. You are not true.
Your guise is as thin as the silver coating on a lottery ticket.
This flower is a weed, and some other man should pick it.
Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014
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