Pick words at random and add them to the poem (stool, spar, caterpillar, ink, moustache, wine):
Sprawled upon a stool,
casually draped across the bar,
he motions for another,
as smoke swirls from his cigar.
Spurred steps break the silence,
the wooden boards begin to whine.
Itching for a spar, he bellows,
“Turn and face me, you swine!”
Caterpillar moustache chuckles,
as the man finishes his drink.
“Son, that’s a mighty fine offer,
but your post ain’t worth the ink.”
Not one to be made a fool,
the hot headed youth went for his gun.
In a blink, the job was done,
“I wish you hadn’t done that, Son.”
No comments:
Post a Comment