Walk

I haven't done anything more productive than cleaning my bathrooms but I'm so tired I can't think. In lieu of current creativity, here's a glimpse into my past.

The oldest file in my My Documents folder is a 13 year-old poem:

Walk

A man went down to Sandy Beach to see what he could find.

But all he found were paper trash, hypodermics, and an orange rind.

So he walked a little further, to a nearby store

Where he found rolling papers, condoms, beer, and little more.

When he was feeling nice and relaxed he decided to try again.

So he walked up to his church to confess his sins.

But the priest was busy, out, they said, praying for the dead.

Like Me, thought the man, and blew off his own head.

I've never been much of a poet, but even I can see that the meter needs a little work.  Interesting first draft.  I don't remember writing it, though I remember writing the jump rope rhyme saved on the same page.