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Dry Umbrella

I'm fifteen and high on grasshopper legs when Mr. Jackson
buries my head into the pillow. 'Stop it you're hurting me'

From then on, life erupts, like a sh*tty fire-work display
and I'm caught in the middle of it all--
 dry vodka, tongue piercing, *j*c*l*t*d rage

As my hand lifts to shield from the guilty stares

At the bottom of a hill

They stand in a line

And I look to my side to see your hand in mine
'f*ck em'

'f*ck em all' you smile;

While spitting out the remnants of a puffy
we were lucky, it rained that day..
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Submitted on February 10, 2014

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    "Dry Umbrella" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 21 Sep. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/70058/dry-umbrella>.

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