Sunday
Crosseyed Lucy wanted
Someone to love her
So much
Huddled together
In fourbit darkness
Way-y-y-y
In the back
She asked if
I loved her
And I said yes
I guess
And when she slid
Her quickbitten
Fingers into my
Bluejeans
John Wayne
Turned a somersault
And an Indian
Bit the dust
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem