Contest entry. Pantoum Poetry form |
Contest entry for
Used
It is all lies, I deserve the prize Don't listen to that poor son of the South, as talented as he might be That part about breathing is just a ploy for your sympathy His Paw works on an oil rig - 28 days a month at a time While it is true his mama does seethe that was usually his fault too That part about breathing is just a ploy for your sympathy He was the bully always picking on me; he hides on that ledge from the sheriff While it is true his mama did seethe that was usually his fault too My mama cooked, hooked, and read to me from the Good Book He was the bully always picking on me; he hides on that ledge from the sheriff My mama instilled in me, "The law will soon deal with that poor boy of the South." My mama cooked, hooked, and read to me from the Good Book Though I do my very best, seems I can't beat that poor son of the South My Mama instilled in me, "The law will soon deal with that poor son of the South." I went to college too - earned two degrees for all the good they'd do Though I do my very best, seems I can't beat that poor son of the South I need an upgrade, and I am willing to beg, plead, and shout. I went to college too - earned two degrees for all the good they'd do I write every day too, just like that other you know who I need an upgrade, and I am willing to beg, plead, and shout I say, "He has plenty money, and talent too. I just need to win this more than he do." I write every day too, just like that other you know who His Paw worked on an oil rig - 28 days a month at a time I say, "He has plenty money, and talent too. I just need to win this more than he do." Don't listen to that poor son of the South, as talented as he might be. |