Used Up
The painter in his cap sits there
On a front porch chair,
And no one asks him to paint—
“He drinks,” is their complaint.
There was a time he got those jobs,
Now the liquor slowly robs
His reputation till it goes—
But still he wears those painter-clothes.
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.
