Kenny Poem by connor willete
Kenny
Kenny talks and plays with me
But no one cares or even sees
People act as if it's a disease
But me and kenny shoot the breeze
At the lunch table I make a space
The space is for Kenny
people give me a nasty face
No one sits at our table, not many
Me and parents had a talk
It was a sunday morning walk
They looked at me and said
I think it's time bro
You sleep with him in bed
Kenny must go
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 7:04:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
