Short Whiskey - Poem by Pirate Thief
Sun-dress blue to evening-cloak black
all in the span of a short whiskey.
sterile as a surgeon's cut
slice the night
through tall buildings
and low street lamps.
The old city wheezes
and the new night inhales
every breath the day will give.
As I sit and listen
to the train cackle,
and watch as it spits out yesterday's heros
who walk stump-shouldered to their tiny homes
and never notice the blue and black
or the sharp white lights
and never stop to enjoy
the reflective warmth
of a short whiskey.
Comments about Short Whiskey by Pirate Thief
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl