Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.15.34.228

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

On the San Francisco waterfront the sun is going down 
Upon a well-heeled journeyman fresh in from out of town. 
The sky's been drained of color to a somber shade of gray
As a new day dawns on another continent half a world away.

In the console of his rental car he keeps a loaded Glock, 
And fifty grand in cash for proving dead men never talk.
His trip to Frisco fit the adage "crime can sometimes pay."
Like that wedding swindle a dozen years ago half a world away.

There’s a shot glass on the window sill, a bottle on the floor. 
A briefcase full of alibis lies propped against the door. 
The walls of his motel room might be closing in today,
But it can’t compare to the hot, stale air she breathes half a world away.

He could maybe make the fever break, breathe easy for a spell.
Maybe shave a couple seconds off the time he’ll spend in hell. 
He might even find forgiveness if he had the faith to pray
For a young girl burned by a grifter's double-cross half a world away.

In his wallet there’s a photo of a happy, smiling bride;
The blue eyed, fresh faced girl-next-door he’d taken for a ride
To a Southeast Asian brothel where he led her soul astray.
When he sold her ass to spend her nightmare honeymoon giving it away.

When the scholars write the history that chronicles an age, 
They leave the least important things omitted from the page. 
There's much that gets forgotten, left to silently decay;
Like a sex slave serving a Bangkok pleasure den half a world away.

Half a world away is as far as you can get, 
But she’ll never let you spend a night in peace.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required