Terminator
Two walk into the street, at high noon Few talk, in lieu of beat, that fly tune A long low whistle, gathers a crowd The song bro. is cool, rappers allowed Fluent in literary mortification Prudent in arbitrary concentration With the first shot fired, the crowd oohs! It does hurt but not dire, a wowed blow Return fire is another matter In turn, higher is the stir’s laughter One struts, into the sundown Some cuts, ensue a showdown
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2018
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