Gifts From FatherA Poem by James O'RourkeOh Father, from whose ordnance Did you find bullets and grenades To hurl in my direction? You must have driven the mile down the road To your neighbor's shed Breaking the lock deftly And stealing inside the cache Finding just what your wicked mind Required for such a task Your eyes undressing each bullet Drinking in their streamlined figures Fingertips tapping their neat noses As one does laying next to a lover After a bout of heated passion Oh how you must have reveled in your lust! The smell of gunpowder and death Elicits a sigh from your depths Your hands steady, but your heart, Erratically raging in your cage, Spreads a gap-toothed grin across your evil visage Your truck sits lower to the ground Laden with its monstrous payload As you speed away towards the freeway A throaty cackle the only sound heard above The music blaring out of the radio I'm comin' to get you boy I'm gonna make you dead © 2016 James O'RourkeAuthor's Note
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2 Reviews Added on February 16, 2016 Last Updated on February 16, 2016 AuthorJames O'RourkePortland, ORAboutWhat's up y'all, Been a hot minute since I've been on here (somewhere around three years.) Anyway, I've been thinking of knocking the cobwebs out of my brain and jump back into writing again. .. more..Writing
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