At the Busted Flush Motel
"You got a memory for faces, sugar?" How she stares!
"I think so, yes." Her smile splits like the crack of doom.
Peroxide pales her improbable pile. That beehive hair's
like something Boris Karloff might exhume.
"That's kinda fortunate, y'see, becuz there's
no freakin' mirror in your room."
Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment