John Wayne brought his wife, who fills her THC prescription on the second thursday of every month for the pain in her right foot. The two sat across from each other in the corner eating a dead horse while John's wife complained about how there weren't quite enough stars and stripes above the heads of all God's children. Time finally passed and she decided to be a junkie not more than twelve years after. As she cried from her grave for the next and final fix, a telephone rang causing earthquakes in the southern hemisphere of Arthur's silver brain.Birth sign: Sagittarius
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Adam Gosha.