They call her
Panama Redz
The shots filled the sky
a ring of smoke
drifted from the barrel
Good thing her aim
was shit
Someone sounded
an alarm
He hid the stash
Panama Redz
tipped the rum bottle
and
laughed.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
About Me
- Dale Hunt
- He's become comfortable in that ol' civil war jacket. What would compliment that mess of hair? A sage cigarette, a bottle in his hand and a book in his pocket. A hobo at heart a drunk by night and a rambling pain. Tired and old before his time. Studying the greats Bukowski, Tom Waits William S. Burroughs and Hunter S. Thompson, Kerouac and John Steinbeck. Drinking Brandy and Cockspur rum from the bottle. Hiding down South for the winter months running from the cold and consequence.
No comments:
Post a Comment