The mattresses are piled
high on the curb
in the morning, sagging
together in a sorry heap
as if they, too, got
wasted last night.
Perhaps they’re left to burned.
Tonight, will we watch
the flames dance with the
blaring music, dance
in the distance between
not enough sleep and
too much alcohol?
Perhaps the frat boys
have got new beds,
ready to stain fresh mattresses
with the crudeness
of what happens here at night.
~Rory Finnegan
high on the curb
in the morning, sagging
together in a sorry heap
as if they, too, got
wasted last night.
Perhaps they’re left to burned.
Tonight, will we watch
the flames dance with the
blaring music, dance
in the distance between
not enough sleep and
too much alcohol?
Perhaps the frat boys
have got new beds,
ready to stain fresh mattresses
with the crudeness
of what happens here at night.
~Rory Finnegan