Grandma Joyce
Grandma Joyce
Is slingin on a Monday
Hangin with the boys
The brews and the indiscretion
Of indie screech
Its what she knows
Its what defines her
Semblance of maturity
As tavern talk ripples
With her grounded sense
Of grand illusions
And a single Yuengling
Cuz Grandma Joyce
Needs to wet her whistle
Even more than you.
(5/13/13)
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
