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Long Car Poems | Long Car Poetry

Long Car Poems. Below are the most popular long Car by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Car poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long poem by Roy Jerden | Details | . You can read it on' st_url='' st_title='Cruisin' the Drag'>

Cruisin' the Drag

Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade, 
We're cruising in the Lone Star state
Didn't want a bucket seat; the thing it couldn't beat, 
Was sitting up close to your date
One hand on the wheel of daddy’s Oldsmobile, 
My arm around my brown-eyed girl
Feeling pretty sporty, radio on top forty, 
I was cooler than the Duke of Earl

The lady of the cruise had her penny loafer shoes, 
Her bobby socks were turned down twice
With a little eyeliner, she couldn't be much finer
Too much and it wouldn't be nice
There’d be no wild oats under those petticoats
She’d never go all the way
Just a perfect flip-up 'do and cute look number two
Practiced in the mirror all day

Hear those tires squeal when I make the rubber peel
For the flyboys waiting on the bus
To take them to the base where they don't feel out of place
Not cruising like the rest of us
I was the drag's head honcho as we pulled across the Concho
And we saw the lights along the riverside
We'd had quite a lark at Neff's amusement park
Playing putt-putt and going on a ride

The cheerleader squad rode a killer hot rod
With a spinner on every rim
A perfect tuck and pleat on every single seat 
Courtesy of Wanda's Auto Trim
Candy apple red, it would really knock you dead
It was a drop-top Pontiac
One was there to steer and three were in the rear
Posing up on the back

Those football beauty queens in their skin-tight Levi jeans
Were followed by their biggest fan
Checking out those lasses in his Buddy Holly glasses 
Was the nerdy little Aqua Velva man
In his stainless steel braces he grinned up at their faces
They iced him with a haughty air
He never would forget it; they would later on regret it
When he became a multi-millionaire

A four girl bevy in a big finned Chevy 
Were riding west on Sherwood Way
Four guys right behind in a pick-up state of mind
All ready to make their play
Thought they were the smartest cruising pick-up artists
But those gals were pretty astute
When they stopped and the guys started telling all their lies
The chicks started putting on the cute

We turned the car around and headed back downtown
Cruising down the boulevard 
Stay cool daddio, bear right at El Patio
And take it down Beauregard
There were lots of pleated skirts and those button-down shirts
The flattops were everywhere galore
From a Lincoln Continental, we heard an instrumental
Mister Acker Bilk's “Stranger on the Shore”

We slowly pulled through BJ’s, listening to the deejay’s 
Announcement of the next hit song
Leaning on their doors with their Brylcreem pompadours
Two hoods were playing Mr. Wrong
Completing their disguise, they slouched with narrowed eyes
And did their best at looking mean
With a twist of his pelvis, one was doing Elvis
The other did a fine James Dean

Like a sweet potato vine, the bride of Frankenstein 
Was entwined around the Marlboro man
With the passion of their make out, they should have gotten takeout 
And opted for a bigger floor plan
With her big black beehive hair and his fancy western wear
They were putting on quite an awesome scene
I had to give a chuckle at his huge silver buckle
But those M.L. Leddy boots looked mighty keen

I pulled the Olds on through, and we bid BJ’s adieu
And I put us back onto the street
With those four whitewall tires, we made for McIntire's
To get ourselves a bite to eat
We stopped for some fuel, over near the school
In those days they came right out to you
Best place on Earth, ‘cause with a dollar’s worth
They’d check your oil and clean your window too

The drive-in, painted green, was quite the social scene
With people mingling car to car
Everyone was caring; the drinks they were for sharing
Especially when they were in a mason jar
She ate a big banana split, and then left me for a bit
To comfort an old friend not feeling right
A moment more to linger with that final steak finger
Then I took her home and called that one a night

That was many years ago, but some things you don’t outgrow
And I think back to when I was a teen
When doors were left unlocked, and children safely flocked
Unchaparoned at night on Halloween
And sometimes at night, when the stars are big and bright
And I’m deep in a Texas state of mind
I think of that lass who was in my high school class
And I wonder if she thinks of me in kind

August 10, 2012

Long poem by Evin cruz | Details |

When I got Stabbed

                                                   WHEN I GOT STABBED

The blade went through my flesh like a knife through melting butter.
Thoughts ran through my head as I bled out, like no more will I see my mother
Anger and rage streamed through my veins so I didnt feel the pain.
Im on my way to my car and get into the passenger seat.
My girlfriend Sareina runs to the other side, I hear the thud of her feet.
Getting into my car was quite a task, it was lower and 
close to the ground.
Time seems to freeze as my are starts to throb and my head 
begins to pound.
I hear the car turn over and roars to life, as I sit there and 
mine drains out.
As were driving I look around me and see the crimson splatters 
I hear my mom on the phone asking my big brother Rikki 
whats the matter. 
He hears the trembling in her voice and doesnt know what to say .
He said mom Evin got stabbed but dont worry he'll be okay. 
Sareina swerves through traffic trying not to crash.
I lift my blood soaked shirt and remove it from the gash, 
She sees the slice in my wrist, panice and begins to scream. 
At the time it didnt seem real, like a fable or some bad dream. 
She pushes the pedal to the floor, the engine gets louder and louder. 
Already in motion the car lunges forward releasing all its power, 
My fingers go numb and my hand beging to follow. 
Sitting there in a pool of blood its getting harder to swallow 
we make it to the hospital, skidding in front of the door. 
I open my attempt to get out, but almost fall to the floor.
Rikki and Sareina help me as I stumble into the lobby. 
My blood soaked cloths send velvet liquid dripping down my body.
As I stand there among the rukus and comotion,
My mind seems to fade away no worries or emotions.
I woke up in the back on a table I hear singing, 
A womans soft angelic voice this cant be real I must be dreaming 
Extreme amounts of pain let me know that this is real
the singing nurse says welcome back with a smile like it was no big deal. 
We cant get the bleeding to stop so we had to give you more 
I hear sobbing so I turn my head and try to focus on the door, 
the crying was coming from my mom who was sitting by my side. 
The doctors tell her that theres a problem and were going for a ride,
we dont have surgeons here to help you. 
Sounding hopelss and exhausted she sighed, we've done all we can do. 
We're sending you to Portland, they'll make you good as new.
Falling in and out of consciousness, we reach our destination. 
On the verge of giving up hearing family say stay strong, gives me motivation. 
Getting rushed off the ambulance and seeing my loved ones tears
made me feel more strength, but striked some sudden fear. 
Like will I make is through the day to see them smile again,
Or is this my time to go will this be my end.
Later I awoke to see everyones relieved and anxious smile, 
I asked how long I've been out it seemed like quite a while. 
My mom said you've been under for a couple days, 
you've had two surgeries but dont worry both of them went okay. 
I closed my eyes and smiled to myself I'm thankful the angles heard me pray.  

						By Evin cruz

Long poem by Stefanie Jones | Details |


Just a day
“Good Night Mom and Dad” I said before I went to bed. “We love you” they said as they closed the door
Mom comes in and wakes me up “Time to go to school” as my feet hit the floor
I got dressed and ate breakfast and got my book bag and now we are on the go
We sit in the car listening to music “It’s Friday I think I’m a little excited tho
“Alright baby we here” as mom open the door to let me get out
She closed the door and kissed me on the head told me she loved me before she pulled off
Another day of school and it close to Christmas
I can’t wait to see Ashley and Alexus, today is show and tell as I said in a whisper
We had learning center day and Boy! Was it fun!
Today was a free day and on Friday there isn’t much to learn
The room was quite when the was a knock at the door, the door opened
A man with a big gun was standing there; my classmates panicked and started to run
I heard a lot of noises and a lot of screams
I felt a sharp pain in my back as I dropped to my knees
In the distant I heard more screams and then everything went silent
Then I closed my eyes it went dark and on the cold floor I was dying
The other side
It’s Thursday night and off to bed we go 
I kiss my 5 year old son Jaden and told him I loved him so
Alarm clock goes off and it’s around 6:15 in the morning 
I shower got dress and woke up Jaden my little darling
Its Friday, I fixed him breakfast and we headed out for the this last day until the weekend
I enjoyed our little drives to school as we sat in the car singing
I opened the door to let him out once more
Kissed him on the head and told him I loved him ill pick him up around four
I’m at work drinking coffee just talked to my husband on the phone
Got at my desk started to work and the my office phone rung
It’s about 9:30 and it was Jaden’s school
I got the news he was dead and I started to puke
I’m crying uncontrollably don’t know my next move
My son is dead, I can’t believe this news
I hurried to the school in the best of my ability 
I saw the school surrounded by medics, reporters, and police
I ran to a officer and demanded to see my son
He said “I’m sorry ma’am” I can’t do this at this time
At 9:32 my one and only son Jaden was pronounced dead
The shooter was 20 and took my son’s life in his own hands
The questions continue to flow through my head as I search for answers
I don’t need answers I need my son and his laughter
I am now sitting on his bed trying to swallow tears
My husband holds me close as reality nears
My little boy is gone among the other 19 kids
Heaven has 20 new angels now I hope he knew how much I love him  as much as  I did

(To the innocent lives that were lost in the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting)

Long poem by rene Chabriere | Details | . You can read it on' st_url='' st_title='It's too early in the gray sky - from french'>

It's too early in the gray sky - from french

No one in this morning
The road is deserted,
It's too early under the gray sky,

The veins of my hands,
Salient hands on the wheel
The look Elevated

The white line scrolls,
The colored houses, fled,
Since the curves crossed,

Creeks glimpsed,
The white studs punctuate
the road, pedal to the floor,,

Not any  possible gesture
Just those, tiny,
Extending the machine

According to the gray ribbon
Powered by the wheels

Swallowing the consistency,
of traffic signs,
blurred by speed,

The craft carried by his power,
Shares my drunkenness ...

Almost brought a strength,
Internal and autonomous

The motor flexibility
It shiny metal body,
Discreet comfort inside ...

And suddenly ,this is
At the end of the turn,
This dog,

As an immobile sphinx,
His unexpected question,

The deflected trajectory,
Gravel under the tires,

The crazy slide,
Nothing controls it

Falling universe 
A jump above the parapet,
A single flight without return

Net stopped by an heavy shock
Cons below ...

A brief moment, I remember ,
The covering  waves,
Ebbing, breaking,

Again and again,
Distributing its foam
On the rocks ...

No one in this morning
The road is still deserted
It's too early in the gray sky.


Personne en ce matin,
La route est déserte,
Trop tôt sous le ciel gris,

Les veines de mes mains,
Saillantes,  mes mains sur le volant,
Le regard en plongée,

La ligne blanche qui défile,
Les maisons de couleur, enfuies,
Dès les courbes  franchies, 

Les criques entr'aperçues,
Les poteaux blancs rythment
le trajet, pédale au plancher,,

Plus de geste possible,
Que ceux, infimes,
Prolongeant la machine,

Suivant le ruban gris,
Propulsé sous les roues

Avalant la consistance,
des panneaux  de signalisation,
floutés par la vitesse,

L'engin porté par sa puissance,
Partageant l'ivresse...

Presque porté d'une force,
Interne et autonome,

Moteur en souplesse,
Carosserie brillante,
Confort intérieur discret ...

Et c'est  là soudain,
Au sortir du virage,
Qu'il y a ce chien,

Comme  un sphinx immobile,
Sa question imprévue,

La trajectoire  déviée,
Les gravillons sous les pneus,

La glissade folle,
Que rien ne contrôle,

L'univers qui bascule,
Le bond au-dessus  du parapet,
Un vol sans retour,

Stoppé net par le lourd choc,
En contre-bas...

Je revois un bref instant,
Les vagues les recouvrant,
Refluant, se brisant,

Encore et encore,
Distribuant son écume
Sur les rochers...

Personne en ce matin,
La route est encore déserte,
Il est trop tôt sous le ciel gris.


RC - mai  2014

Long poem by Robert A. Dufresne | Details |

Shogun Series Collab Richard Pickett : Bill side 8

 (cont from Richard Pickett's side )
      You alright? Hang on I got a bus coming . I got your piece. Bill pulled Brick
 up to a half sitting position as he was talking to him.  He scanned the area 
to see any possible witnesses. He heard Brick making-” uhh -uhh “noises and 
that’s all he seemed to be able to do. “Say I got an idea Brick .. just a suggestion
 cause I know how you hate getting bossed around and all…. How about 
breathing?… I’ll bet it would take some of that blue outa your face, pardner.
 It just don’t become you, ya know?
 “Uhh, hunh, uh hunhh hunhh.”  Brick still couldn’t talk but his breath was coming back around.   
    “Atta way Brick, good thing I came along and reminded you to do that.... But what are pardners for? You’d  have probably done the same for me although I ain’t sure about you New Yorkers.    ...You okay now, buddy?”
     “Huunh, huunh…yeah..huunh, no thanks …to you…huunh. You shoulda ..uh
 huunh …seen it…I almost.. killed the guy…yeah ..unnh.. Smashed …his foot…uhu… 
with my chest…hunnhh. “Bill helped Brick up to a half standing position while Brick continued with labored breath. “Where the hell were you.. Uh.. anyway, while I was .. huunh ..kicking this guy’s butt? "  Bill picked up Brick’s hat, dusted it off and set it on Brick's head who was still bent over holding his ribs. 
     “Where was I? I was over yonder having me a sandwich ..and you 
know how I hate to be disturbed while I’m eating.” They could hear the bus siren 
now getting closer. “How you doing now, ole buddy?
  “Better I guess…uhh ..least I can breathe.. Sorta.“ 
“Brick they’re probably gonna want to check you out when that bus gets here.”
"Why did you ..hunhh .. call the bus, Cowboy? You know ..uhh.. I hate getting groped by those guys. ..uhuhh."  Let’s go before uh ..they get here! “
     Exactly then the bus came into view, parked and a medic immediately rushed out 
excitedly hollering ” where’s the downed officer!?”  
     Brick looked up to see she was blond , flush cheeked and awful easy on the eyes. …”I’m right here, Miss! ..uhh .. It’s me!”
     Bill grinned and was glad to see he would be in good hands. “Yeah, you’ll have to 
help him. He can’t walk too good. But you should see the other guy . I'm sure he’s 
limping all over the place around here somewhere. Heh heh. I’ll take care of your car Brick.  Catch you later.” 
     Brick was busy. Bill made his way back through the little crowd that 
had gathered there and walked back towards Brick’s car while still carefully scanning 
the tenement buildings. (to be cont)

Long poem by Shadow Hamilton | Details |

Modern Ways versa Olden Ways

First let us take our friend the horse
a noble creature who serves us well
supplying us with a source of good compost 
ferrying us here and there in fine style
pulling carts and carriages with aplume
carrying riders proudly on their backs
seldom a traffic jam and smell the pure air
enjoy the freedom to gallop with the wind

Now let us take the motor car
this guzzles fuel at an alarming rate
spewing out poisonous fumes that pollute
and if you should have a crash a tangled heap
of near useless metal is all that remains
and people torn and broken trapped inside
and the queue of traffic stretching back
maybe cars are fast but they come at a high price

In olden days the fields were much smaller
quilts against the landscape so pleasing to see
the hedgerows full of flowers giving shelter
to a host of birds, insects and small animals
the stately shires furloughing the fields
laying the lines true and straight
their leisurely pace giving dormouse time
to scuttle away and find some safety

The big modern threshers and ploughs
need far bigger spaces to work so large fields
gone the pretty quilt work, gone most hedgerows
rushing over vast areas harvesting the crops
behind them lay the dead and injured bodies
of all the little creatures unable to flee the blades
now the crows move in to feast alive or dead they eat
so yes more crops fast harvested but at a high price

In days gone by we dwelt in villages and small towns
where most if not all knew one another by name
you could safely leave your house unlocked
and your children played freely in the streets
neighbours helped one another in whatever way needed
and shared the little they themselves had gladly
street parties were times of great delight
but best of all you truly knew your friends

Sky scrappers looming towering up high
stinky lifts that break leaving one trapped
danger round every corner, its each one for themselves
rapists, burglars, murderers and plain gangsters
have a field day in the metropolis with easy pickings
here one keeps ones children safe and tucked away
concrete blocks of houses along concrete streets
everywhere you see strangers at what a high price

When one stops and really thinks about it all
are these advances really worth the price we pay
does it really matter with the vast food piles
if it takes a little longer to do the harvest
cars are all every well but wheres the romance?
the quivering flesh of an excited horse galloping
does far more for me than a petrol guzzling beast
I admit I prefer the less complicated times of yore

Long poem by Jay Anderson-Taylor | Details |

What price we will pay for believing in a politician?

Every four years they come a courting us, wearing their fine woven suits with their Ivy 
League education, some are even lawyers or so called successful business men…they claim 
they have the answers to our problems…their mouths are full of words of encouragement 
and their brains high off their own egos of what's right or wrong. Once they do get elected to 
the highest office in the nation, they hire the brightest minds in our country to help them 
solve the very same problems that they claimed to have had a solution for when they wanted 
your vote during the election. I’m not a politician just a mere poet and a humble 
Christian at best… just taking a look at our situation from a layman’s perspective…at those 
we elect to fix our problems and frustrations. 

They all have visions of solving all our social woes and frustrations, these same types of 
politicians have had hundreds of years to right their past wrongs. But, instead once elected 
they turn a blind eye to the greedy corporate spending and banks who own most of the 
country and yet they claim to be broke… some of their CEO’s live better than whole nations, 
but those same politicians we elected rewarded them for failure with millions of taxes payer’s 
dollars in secrete exchanges for political favors. Strange once they get elected, they pretend 
that now they no longer see those drug dealing nations or the very same puppet 
governments that their predecessors helped to put into place. 

They claim that they know nothing about those crooked car companies who sell cars here in 
the USA for 300 times more than what other countries pay for those same pieces of junk! As 
if that were not enough, those same politicians gives out our hard earn tax money for cash 
for clunkers to all these rip off car dealerships who then split the ill gotten profits with those 
same crooked car companies and banks who put us in this slump, with their poorly produced 
products and the banks with their over inflated interest rates they give to us. 

They no longer see how the very same oil companies that we made rich now raise oil price 
for oil we already have here in the USA. They try to correct other countries on civil rights 
violations and equality for women, when we ourselves still live in the dark age in some place 
right here in the good old USA…So, I say to you my fellow man not as a poet or a Christian, 
but just as a layman looking in… if a politician is the answer to our problems? Then who has 
been running this country for the last hundred or so years?

Long poem by Langeni Mate | Details |

Poem VI - Petrol Station

One day I saw this beautiful lady and I was hoping, begging she'd come stop 
by my Petrol Station. It was the best in town. It had the cleanest oil and the 
cheapest prices. My Petrol Station attracted the most customers and when it 
came to this lady, I wouldn't even be mad if she was my only customer.

She drove past and looked inside and I made sure that my baby looked 
appealing to her. But she continued driving, and she never smiled. I wondered 
what I did wrong? We hadn't reached our peak hour? Or she knows too much 
about my station. Days passed, weeks even. And nearly a month of this lady 
passing my station every morning, she finally came on a cold Monday morning.

She entered through the back door, was astounded by her presence. She 
greeted me with a warm smile and said: "Excuse me gentle brother but my gas 
is low. I heard you were the best in town and that's what I'd like to know. See I 
don't mean to be rude but I have no money so if you're able to do me this one 
favour you'd be my favourite honey." If I said her voice was angelic, you 
wouldn't look at me the same degrading such a mesmerizing voice. I went 
blank as each word was a different melody in my brain telling me I can't lose 
this opportunity I have on this fine day. I looked at her and said: "Well my 
beautiful sister you are in luck. I'll fill up your tank and you won't even pay a 
buck. Don't repay my generosity, take this gift for free, and when you are 
speeding on those highways you will see. That my Petrol Station is the best in 
town, and you will never forget where to go when your gas is down."

She smiled whilst opening up her tank. This car was a beauty, V12 engine, 
1200 horses. I'm pretty sure when she was riding my streets at top speed her 
hooter wouldn't stop making a noise. She had a yellow, almost golden-brown 
body and with my magical petrol, she had a snow white interior. I got my petrol 
ready and when it finally started filling up, I gave her 200 pumps worth and she 
was ready to tackle the whole entire week. She took off faster than a 
Lamborghini and I watched her speed past a red light. I told myself I'm the 
best in the world at what I do and you wouldn't believe who paid me a visit on 
Tuesday morning. Yes it was the lady with no money and she asked "Can I be 
your first customer every morning? You keep my car clean and no one has 
your kind of petrol." My business closed down and was only open to yellow, 
almost golden-brown Lamborghini's with a snow white interior.


Long poem by ryan hellerud | Details |


Four times, nay, five it's true, Grim Reaper  defied.
The first was when down Hollywood streets I flew at Ninety five.
Averting wheel, I turned it fast
and struck my head on window's glass
Past throngs of people truly shocked
flew that beast upon concrete knocked
down busy street flying fast
a dangerous stunt indeed was that.
The throttle stuck in engine 'twas
no way to slow the car for us
With tires smoking came we to rest
around a pole, the car a mess.
unscathed I walked away that day
no loss of life from traffic fray.
The second time at Hollywood High
in mortal combat was engaged.
The numbers vast against we five
fifty dark, we dared to strive
Of warriors spirit we bid partake
in wild skirmish near the gate
Each five of us compassed by eight.
Surrounded, we, as though in a cage
The other four went down, as they did rage
Left me to fend 'gainst numbers great
I entered that Berserkers state
I kept my back to the fence awhile,
inflicting hurt on them with style
Like Tiger fought I for life and limb
but did succumb to fateful whim
A blow to neck received from them
Upon the pavement fell I then
Three hundred folk did watch that fray
above the bleachers that fateful day.
I wakened shortly upon a space
and walked away from that place.
The third time with that Warriar Dan
who of that Tribe is not;
to Park at midnight wandered there
and found a peaceful spot.
A group of thirty men were there
Mariachi's vaunted, were caught unaware.
Off they strolled to yonder cars,
as we sat 'neath the stars.
Back they sauntered, steel in hand
surrounded us, we took a stand.
Our lives at risk, no doubt we thought,
as peace a thing they wanted not.
Thirty strong, cowardly odds agreed
misfortune ours, them, smoking weed.
Valiantly stepped up, their Leader brave
and said to me "it's strife we crave."
Your Jacket or your life" he says
As I look him in boldly in the face
I pondered his very bold request
should we venture upon this quest
I pondered hard upon our plight
at this request some may take flight
A costly gift was given me, this Leather Coat so fine
bequeathed to me by Grandpa good, on my Mother's side.
These thoughts indeed did cross my mind,
when Crowbar choked me from behind.
My neck was tugged, I grabbed it fast,
I jerked that weapon from his grasp
I stood now with that cold hard Steel
my wish to strike at them, to kill,
But Prudence gained the final say
as my fine Coat I gave away.
Stay tuned for last several lines
I'll let you know in my due time.

Long poem by Robert A. Dufresne | Details | . You can read it on' st_url='' st_title='Shogun Collab Bill's side 9 Richard Pickett Series'>

Shogun Collab Bill's side 9 Richard Pickett Series

When the bus first got there, the Medic was tending to Brick and it took 
all of five minutes for that to turn around. Brick was tending to the nurse.  
No surprise, Bill thought to himself grinning. Girl never had a chance, and he laughed 
while walking back to Brick’s squad car. The blue lights were still bubbling over the 
top of the rig. Bill got in, called Brick’s twenty third to tell them to pick up his car at 
the bridge but Brick had already anticipated that and beat him to it. It came as no 
surprise to Bill. His detective buddy would never let pleasure interfere with his 
passion for police work and figured bill would do that.
     Bill drove the car back to the Bywater bridge where Bill’s own squad car was 
parked still reflecting swirling lights off the base of the bridge. The bus had picked 
up the body and was gone. Bill was still snooping around the crime scene twenty 
minutes later when another squad car dropped off a driver to pick up Brick’s car. Bill 
knew him as a player for the 21st precinct horseshoe team. “Hey John..”  “Hello 
Cowboy, good to see you back. You got a messy one goin’ here, I’m told.” 
“Yep, I reckon we do. It’s Brick’s case but I got a feeling I’ll be in on it before long if I 
don’t get fired first.” 
“Looks like you're already on it if you ask me...  Well I gotta run. Catch you on a 
make up game.” 
   All Bill found under the bridge, beside the usual out the car window trash, which 
could be construed to be evidence was a lady’s black high heeled shoe and a 
compact case containing blush and red lipstick. He threw them in an evidence bag to 
give to Brick later.
The speaker in his car was broadcasting “ one Victor seven, come in? One Victor 
seven come in?” ---“Yeah one Victor seven here. What is it Tom?”
“Uh, Lt Griggs wants to know what’s goin’ on. Seems a little upset. There’s talk you 
been joyriding in another precinct. Funny thing; he didn’t  know you were even 
signed in or back on duty. A minor detail.  I took care of it for you.”  “Thanks Tom, I 
owe you one.”
“He wants a written report on his desk of today’s goings on by knock off or there 
won’t be a knock off for ya. I stuck up for ya and told him I didn’t think you could 
write but he just gave me a dirty look. Anyway, you’ve been told.” “Okay, thanks 
Tom…... I think.” One Victor seven out. Bill headed back to the Thirty first to finish up 
the dreaded paper work  but first he’d call Brick to get their stories straight. (to be 
cont. on Richard Pickett soup site.)

Long Poems