Poor Boy

Poor boy,

Destined for seminary school, 

Spending his summer days 


Sitting in French cafes

Hitting on rich widows.

The Monday bustle

The Cafe Verlet

Once quiet, 

Has become an animated caricature 

Of Brightly colored brocade

And fancy silk scarves .

Motorized scooters for the debonair. 

The cloying scent of French parfum

Bettered by day old bread

And body odour.

Where are the gods of tits and wine?

While we sit


Dying on the vine.



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allets's picture

The Gods of tits and wine

are hanging out with the Goddesses of dicks and gin. Songs. Tough writing lyrics. slc



Beatnik1979's picture


or Penis And Guiness, if you prefer, Allets


Free-Spirited_Wolf's picture

Great write

Great write

*~I know I'm blessed, but I'm cursed to ~ NF*

Beatnik1979's picture

Thank you for your read

I appreciate you checking it out.

Mmmakaveli's picture

Hard not to read this over and over again.

Cleverly written and subsequently impressive as hell.

Beatnik1979's picture

Thank you.

It means a lot to me that you were able to enjoy this.

You are extremely talented, and your praise is my prize.

Sorry for the  delayed thank you.

Bellalibra's picture

same frame....

you've idealistically transported me to where I sense the aromas

and blatantly hit me with reality  - intuition of similar souls

 "While we sit


Dying on the vine"

Ramie's picture

"Waiting." I understand this


I understand this too well.

I feel like I'm waiting everyday for a change, for something to happen.

Waiting for the monotony to end.

Beatnik1979's picture


we’re all waiting for something or someone.

Thanks for the read & sorry for the late reply!