Saturday, July 16, 2011

My Confessions (Poem)

I was raised pretty rightly,
But I haven’t always been good.
Here are my wrongs, written sprightly,
With a pencil made of wood.
At seven I stole Mike’s G.I. Joe,
His gun, his boots and all.
At nine big kids told me to go,
So I hid their ball.
At eleven I copied from a girl named Dee,
During a math test we both were taking.
It was the first time I ever got a B,
My hands, they were a’ shaking.
At 15 I took ten bucks from Mother,
I bought candy, a record and Mad.
At 16 I eavesdropped on my big brother,
To see what girlfriends he had.
In college I cleaned up my act
And did only good for years.
At times I showed too little tact,
After downing too many beers.
Just two more wrongs I’ll now relate:
At thirty I touched a girl’s thigh,
At forty, and this contained some hate,
I shot a man to watch him die.

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