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an accounting
by Charlie Morganit was a long day, numbers had run out;
quintillionth one was given to a young man
from L.A.
friends calling him today will reach him
sometime in the 23rd Century. hope he's not out.
all afternoon we traded lies, intentions;
then lied about lieing and those pesky
intentions.
she said who is winning?
i say, the other guys.
tho they had no score.
they had no numbers.
still, i could tell they were winning.
08/07/2009 Posted on 08/07/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 08/08/09 at 12:49 PM Another good one Charlie. It seems as if the other guys are always winning and then you come sliding home from third base. |
| Posted by V. Blake on 08/10/09 at 10:48 PM I feel like you channeled a bit of Douglas Adams into this poem. I think that's awesome. |
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