Going Russian
What’s there to forget,
like the smell of morning dew,
when playing Russian roulette?
Or smoking the last cigarette,
staying out past curfew,
what’s there to forget?
Reliving those long days waiting for a sunset
or innocent date night rendezvous
while playing Russian roulette
These days of being upset
are never over with the swipe of a tissue
when I need to forget.
Listening to that old cassette
as day breaks through
who’s playing Russian roulette?
The dissonant sound of a string quartet
withholding the note for adieu.
What else is there to forget,
when I’m playing Russian roulette?
YOU ARE READING
Overbooked
PoetryOverbooked is a collection of poems, flash fiction, and anything else I deem fit to share. Some poems elude to others of my works, some I haven't shared. Enjoy.
