HUMONGOUS BURNT SIENNA TURD

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--dVerse Poets Pub

How sadly festive is the geriatric pensione!
Does the pensione make you shiver?
Does it?

I saw the seaside sentinels
Of my generation fall.
How I mourned the old hotel.
How I mourned our breezy apartment
Overlooking the shoreline slum.
It makes me shiver now.

The pensione smells 
On account of old farts
Blasting off farts.

The cafe is a pig trough.
Down down down 
Into the bowels they waddle
The chubby, the oily, the endomorphic.

I saw the flavor of my island destroyed.
Are you upset by how 
greasy the food is now
and how it all tastes like McShitburger?
Does it tear you apart to see
the once proud resort
pulled under by a tsunami of salami?

A humongous
Burnt sienna turd?

The winds blew through
But they didn't erase the memories.
So blow out the candles
Another year has passed.
The die is cast.

The pensione awaits.

OLD BEATER

dVerse Poets Pub

When I reach the end
 of that road
I'll be like some of those old cars
I used to drive around
held together by chewing gum
and bailing wire
an old beater
(I know what you're thinkin')
limpin' along
chokin' and coughin' and splutterin'
(but never  out of "gas")
destined for some boneyard
to be gutted for spare parts