This was prompt number 2. The poem had to be about a specific item.
“Bro-Truck”
Bros pack the cab
slamming Monsters
over-hyping keggers.
Brah, that sloot was slammin’.
High fives dispensed
like breath mints
over the weekend’s box score.
Jack Johnson battles Dave Matthews
for bro-supremacy
supplying the voice
for all their emotions.
The bed, a cattle cart
chauffeuring bros to their
bro-destinations
while soliciting promises to shorties
of, like, a good time, you know?
Hormones inflate faster than
their raging biceps
as they lounge, lifted
above everyone.
Sick rims, dudebrah. Metal Mulisha and shit.
A truck infested with such
athleticism, charm, promise
screeches
into Dream Palace.
No comments:
Post a Comment