Gin

He’s bound to fail, you know

he’s run his ways under the sun

and learned his words by rote

in school, where they rapped him

on his knuckles;

But now he’s old

older than I thought I could ever be

gnarled gray and his hands oh they shake

when once I counted on their steady grip

as we took the turn

double the speed limit and dolled up on gin

but oh he’s a machine like me, with

a fault built-in

he’s bound to fail and I will end up

as alone as we all begin.

Reviews

[Carolynn]

This is an interesting write the way you bring the reader in and out of past and present as you remember what was and no longer can be - I’d be curious to try one like this :)

[JR]

Thanks! I appreciate it, I like to play around with different styles and approaches.