The Past

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


The past that haunts my present.

Submitted: January 26, 2018

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Submitted: January 26, 2018

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A A A


The Past

 

The smell of Black ‘N’ Mild’s

Chase me through the house

While Pepsi cans are piled

Just beside a hole for the mouse

 

To fall asleep takes an hour

In this room where I sleep

In a house without power

During a winter without heat

 

She smokes all through the night

And sleeps during the day

At some point she might

Find where she lost her way

 

Until then we can hope

As the 1st of the month draws near

That this life we live, a slippery slope

We’ll someday view in the rear

 

As for her, the giver of life

Who flirts with the prospect of death

One day she’ll lose her strife

And cease to capture breath 


© Copyright 2018 Alan Donaghey. All rights reserved.

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