Dry Gun Blues. Poem by Peter Vealey
Dry Gun Blues.
Dry, looking for
A dry drink.
Picking up, disorientated
In bad light.
(Had to blame, someone or something!)
Always in a bad light.
Someone going for a fall.
Dry mouth,
Give me that lip-gel
I want to to look like a rock star.
Jived up.
For the come-back,
(I wouldn't even want!)
Deep in the recesses
Is it all for,
You?
Ain't worth the run.
Certainly not that thing
In your trousers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/7/2026 8:22:56 AM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
