It's a slow night, here
Few patrons to pay patronage to those seeking accolades
If not money, support, stipends, then at least applause
I stare out the window, restless
When can I leave, when can I leave
Cold air blows on my thighs.
They'll be warm later.
Personal heating blanket will wrap around them later.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment