My first lie

I spoke French for thirteen years
I say to him
And he smiles.

More cheese.

Soft night yields to love,
Rap is the only hard night sound,
The White man is out of his depth,
Even in French.

He leans forward and whispers in my ear but,
The first lie was mine.

We’ll count them later,
In the fullness of time.

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 21:59  Comments (1)  
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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. Omg ! 👌


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