A Live Hand Grenade Under The Sofa For 15 Years Poem by Saul McCandless
A Live Hand Grenade Under The Sofa For 15 Years
Noel was meant to dispose of them
He must not have, as usual
And to senility, I bow my head
Victor over youth and vigor
In a silk pouch, what death lay for children
And nightmares of tiny white coffins
What a jest we had in the end though
Abominable escapades, an ace of spades
The smell of napalm halitosis
And yellow fingertips for all others.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
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4/26/2024 9:50:05 PM # 1.0.0.1119
