Like a groupie stalking the back
door of a concert stage hoping
to catch a glimpse or nod from
his idol, I will take up a post at
the Pearly Gates right around
quitting time, with a lawn chair,
Thermos of coffee and left over
meatball sandwich for as many
times as it takes for St Peter
to take notice as he's about to lock
up for the night, and he stubs a Camel
against the heel of his sandal,
looks both ways to make sure no
one is watching, and says quietly;
" Hell with it. Come on in, son."
Making It To Heaven
-
- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: Making It To Heaven
A delightful poem. Love it