poems

Good Ole Harry

Good Ole Harry

03/06/2017

It weathers the storm and still beats itself dry.

The battered old duster that keeps me alive.

She span out of control like a ghost after curfew,

If Harry was here oh what would he do?

Magic, it can get a guy killed.

You can imagine how I wasn’t half thrilled.

I ran with the duster billowing behind whilst creating a shield all shiny and wide.

The car dipped it’s headlights a solomn solute.

I panicked with experiance was this it’s debut?

I needen’t havce worried the steam fizzled and hissed.

As she tiled her head in a way I couldn’t resist.

©G.P Williamson 2017

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