Pretty Ricky
died in his sleep
from a stomach bleed.
No doubt, thanks to pills, cheap beer
and even cheaper whiskey.
Even if he wasn't playin' mix-n-match last night,
all the countless nights before
had finally come back to him.
I can recall one night
he came back to the motel
prior to a rare day off,
our boss made deer stew;
Ricky fixed him a cold plate,
dosed it in cold beer, and ate.
"Don't ya know it's better this way?"
He laughed.
I can still hear his laugh,
but, as I think back,
it's not that funny, now.
Honesty only.
Comments
-
wow... I have to agree with George on this...we all know this guy. I love the short story in this...we get to know the kind of guy ricky was just in those few short lines. and I absolutely love the way you ended this piece. Perfect!!!
-
Fuck, man. We all know this guy. Again, that final stanza winds up and swings, connects. Good flow throughout, very clear picture painted of a life lost to youthful excess.
Adding your comment:
