You Needn't Worry

Rest assured, my jealous love, the girl who I
Cherished more than air at church camp
Isn't here. This matron merely shares her
Name.   The slip, devout, whose protestations
That Our Lord would strike us dead if she
Would let me hold her breasts or slip my
Hand inside her pants has fallen somewhat,
I would say.  Her breasts displayed for all to
See, her hand around a glass of gin, her eyes,
So like some sort of raptor’s, scan the room
For victims, mates, to feed upon when they
Get home, and I?  No longer much concerned
With righteous living, or the Lord, have found
Salvation next to you.  I retain the name
I had, but, like her, I have changed.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 14 times
Written on 2011-05-25 at 12:33

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