Contributor: Paul Tristram
- -
We fought out in the car park
we wrestled down onto the ground.
I grabbed him by the throat
with my head I began to pound.
His nose rose up like a balloon
blood and snot circled his head.
He kneed me in the bollocks
my face was green, his was red.
We struggled on for ten minutes
until both our strength was gone.
We were both barred from the pub
it didn’t matter who was wrong.
I left him wiping at his face
came home to drink more beer.
I then awoke this sore morning
covered in my septic souvenirs.
- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
Read more »
- -
We fought out in the car park
we wrestled down onto the ground.
I grabbed him by the throat
with my head I began to pound.
His nose rose up like a balloon
blood and snot circled his head.
He kneed me in the bollocks
my face was green, his was red.
We struggled on for ten minutes
until both our strength was gone.
We were both barred from the pub
it didn’t matter who was wrong.
I left him wiping at his face
came home to drink more beer.
I then awoke this sore morning
covered in my septic souvenirs.
- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
0 Comments
Author:
Paul Tristram
