Lunch is obviously, undoubtedly, superbly the best part of the day. Receive your food. Get off of your feet for a few, maybe of ice cream, just a scoop. Lunch hides a dark secret.
No quiet to concentrate. Mouths open while they chew. Who raised them? A pig, clearly! No manners at all! Who do they think they are? I only sit hoping for silence. Not all of this mental violence.
YOU ARE READING
Pocket Book
PoetryA new set of poems. Some are regular poems and others a lyricals. Please leave any suggestions/feedback! Everything is appreciated!!!
