IComeAnon > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

The sixteenth poem I scribbled into my little notebook.

Sitting in a waiting room, waiting to hear if I had liver failure or not.

My first attempt at an Italian Sonnet, dedicated to my loveliest Rachel.

I was supposed to be working, but, rather, I spent my time writing this on a menu.

I'm tired of writing descriptions.

Almost a happy poem.

Just sitting there, hating myself, scribbling on a Happy Meal bag. At least I got a toy out of it.

Probably the only religious poem I'll ever do.

Whatever.

Stand up straight, Darling.