The Night Is A Goner Poem by Jerome Fuseau
The Night Is A Goner
The Grim Reaper happened to be
A weary girl at the bar counter.
She asked for a cigarette.
I ordered her
A beer too.
As the crowd danced triumphantly
We couldn’t hear a single word.
Such a waste of fine company.
We didn’t leave that place –
We wanted to drink.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: flirtation,tired
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4/25/2024 2:49:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
