Bad Poem 53 I Don’t Want Monday to Come

53_I don’t want Monday to come

Draft_1

Went out drinkin,

To forget tomorrow –

                My drunken graveyard boots stormed down the rail line,

With a bottle in hand,

                A .45 in the other,

I begged the Sun not to come up,

                Keep another day at bay,

For one more drink –

                                One more shot.

                                                One more pill.

So I don’t have to say goodbye

Once more.

You left on a Monday,

                Back to warm Southern air –

                                Where my boots nor the train will take me.

Doctor Death said, “Not yet son, not yet.”

                But I want to see you,

And never let go --

                You leave on the morrow and I –

                                                                Take one more shot.