Poems / writing

bike crash blues

two wheeled transport
no safebelt to lash.
on no, stopped short
so i fell and crashed.
face first, blood poured
and i felt the gash.
call doc, need help
but i’m sans the cash.

want treatment, too poor.
oh well, young lad.
we only open the door
for the wealthy class.
fooled me for sure
cause i belted ‘gasp’
cause outside on the floor
was a welcome mat.

as i left their porch
i held something back
i just spit blood some more
and couldn’t help but laugh.

© 2013 by Marlon D. Hall. All rights reserved.

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