The hounds are hungry;
Wolves paws, claws are venomous
Dark is woe bailer
© Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
28.06.2021
self professed failure
self confessed bailer
left when things got hard
disappeared
bad guy he told many
self confidence?
I don’t have any
Walking apology
Was this guy
When he arrived the women sigh
They want to save him
Rescue, turn him into
Someone rather fine.
They whine, cajole, lament and moan.
Trying to save this bad boy
Every time.
In his youth, he loved to drink beer
As the years passed, he discovered liquor
He drank and drank, without any fear
Even when he had to talk to the bailer
His family tried their best to stop his drinking
Leaving him alone and without his relations
Hoping there would be more time for thinking
And maybe he would remember his lessons
Nothing they did ever stopped his taste for booze
In spite of the many problems that came around
And even though he had plenty he would lose
His drinking was so well known it was renowned
Finally, on a dark and dismal night in June
He lay alone and answered the call of death
It was his time even though he thought he was immune
To the time that had come when he lost his last breath
Dark Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Written 2014, Entered in contest today, November 3, 2020
we don't in one place
we love to see difference face
we go by car
and very far
so we hook and book
we call it a bailer tailer
its our
TRAILER
Old tin roof, plastered adobe walls that were melting
Two big Cottonwood trees, junk cars in the back
Cracked concrete floor, covered with oil and grease
Mexican kids running in and out, playing and screaming
Couple of water jugs, covered with gunny sack
In all of this was some sort of peace
Joes Montes was the owner, we just called him Joe
Joe spoke good broken English, had a little accent
Talked a lot with his hands, pointing at this and that
Did not advertise, everyone knew Old Joe
Been there for years, did not pay any rent
Always wore a greasy cap, never wore a hat
Farmers up and down the valley swore by Joe
When a tractor was down, they knew who to call
Jump in his old truck and he was there
Been known to use bailing wire, he would make them go
Cotton pickers to a hale bailer, he worked on them all
Never charged much, was always fair
Adobe wall have melted, Joe has passed away
In that old shop where a lot of memories were made
No telling how many tractors Joe made run
Tractors now have computers, not in Joe's day
The Cottonwood trees make no more shade
Joe was a tractor fixing son of a gun