A Thousand
I hardly knew how to begin this poem:
I was a young sausage in a butcher shop
Just a little lamb chop lightly seasoned
Disembodiment to be expected
Sure she handled me like meat
Now I’m old enough to get that look
When I show a pretty thing my look
Maybe I should stop the drooling now
Funny a thousand fucks come to this
It'll happen to you, so pay attention.
© 2014 Rob Schackne
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