E.J. LeRoy
It was bad weather for an exhibit
With ominous clouds that conquered the air
And the gallery seemed to inhibit
Those colors destined to drive out despair
The sign said, “Touch, we will not prohibit”
So, my father plopped himself in a chair
At the window, in a manner most crass
He fell asleep with his foot on the glass!
E.J. LeRoy is a Pushcart Prize-nominated writer with a forthcoming mpreg novella. Curious? Visit http://ejleroy.weebly.com.
All those failed dregs of the arts gathered here
The musicians and writers and dreamers
Nursed all their sorrows on local craft beers
Like sad lovers and liars and schemers
But every one of those souls was sincere
Seeking fortune and fame and believers
Each one thought himself the next Hemingway
The drinking part they mastered anyway
E.J. LeRoy is a Pushcart Prize-nominated writer with a forthcoming mpreg novella. Curious? Visit http://ejleroy.weebly.com.