Tosca Poem by Dead Beat Poet
Tosca
I'm sitting here in Tosca,
drinking alone.
They say that's a symptom
of something wrong in the home.
Beautiful women,
to the end of the bar.
Do you think one will screw me,
in the back of my car?
Oops, you see,
I don't have my car.
Maybe we can do it,
in the back of the bar.
I doubt it though,
everyone would hear.
I guess I'll just sit here,
and finish my beer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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3/10/2026 6:16:52 PM # 1.0.0
