Fair Exchange Poem by John F. McCullagh
Fair Exchange
We collided that day in the market,
old fart and a pretty colleen.
Your eyes were the green of an emerald,
Your long tresses as red as I’ve seen.
Your keen hands, at the time, slipped my notice-
as they pilfered my wallet away.
If you don’t mind, dear, I’d like back my photos.
The cash you earned, making my day.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: green
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8/28/2026 6:15:14 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
