My First and Last Poem for Christ The
Christians arrived today, just as they the homeless. I'd
truly forgotten what it's like It
was a Memorial Day weekend Hot
dogs with baked beans, of beef gravy. The
Christians are like They
make certain everyone's dish is thirds. The
Christians never ask the dinner. I
know they secretly wish they to do. They're
all hoping we'll eventually to Jesus. And
although none of out loud. |
|
As the Bridge Turns There
are those rather lengthy. It's
always a screaming kids. I
suppose they than theirs. Of
course, vessels. By
the time it finally much older. |
Copyright
2007, Bob Boston. ©
This work is protected
under the U.S. copyright laws. |
Bob Boston is a poet living and composing on the East Coast. His work has appeared in Silenced Press, The Sundown Lounge, and The Nubian Chronicles. Bob quit high school in 1985, received his GED in 1995, and went on to achieve his Masters. Some people just get off to a bumpy, uncertain start. |