shot glass
title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Theodore M. Wandzilak


Page 1 | 2 | 3

Never Spoke

I died in my mother's chair
Where she chained smoked
I died her death of endless neglect
As she watched white walls turn to tar stained yoke
–she never spoke

I died in my father's chair
Across from my mother's
I died his death of endless regret
As he watched white walls turn to tar stained yoke
–he never spoke

I died in my ancestral chair
Where I drank red wine
I died a death of endless despair
As I watched white walls turn to carmine
–we never spoke