Crimes and Misdemeanours
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Behold the cold village Baskerville fog
and holiday summer fields bundling hay,
the Officers Club back door buying grog
till all our money slowly pissed away!
And lock and load shoot to kill in dead fall
the winged corpse of blackbird, gull, and pheasant
when fools and tricksters and gamblers staked all
in the gaming rooms of Hitchcock Crescent!
Touching in the bus stop her milky skin -
running like a fugitive in the night,
and as the last beer and hormones kicked in
so did crimes of passion in the moonlight.
And when the lusts of youth had lost its thrill
I would walk to the house up on the hill.
Written: April 2000
Copyright © Keith D Trestrail | Year Posted 2022
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