Average Paul
Not too short,
and not tall.
Nondescript
(he’s called Paul).
Average height,
dark brown hair.
Two brown eyes,
does not stare.
Mr Average
Smartly dressed,
but no suits.
Well kept nails,
polished boots.
Middle aged,
but not old.
With a glance
that is cold.
Mr Average.
Though he smiles,
there’s no joy.
Costs a lot
to employ.
Yet of ego,
there’s none.
Just a man,
and a gun.
Mr Average.
Not too short,
and not tall.
Perhaps,
Mr Paul?
But for some,
so they say.
The last thing seen:
well it may
be, Mr Average…
YOU ARE READING
The Tree of Dreams
PoetryRandom poetry and the occasional drabble or dribble of other short random thought from the depths my somewhat bemused brain, or possibly Brian if the schizophrenic misspelt pseudo entity that lives up there is up to his old tricks... poems from the...
