Grand Slam Night poem – A. D. Winans poems | Poetry Monster
Grand Slam Night poem – A. D. Winans poems | Poetry Monster the lights are low you can see the sweat beads bathing his face like a lizard’s tongue the crowd is standing on its feet screaming, dancing, whistling stomping their feet to the tune of a marching band
he’s gyrating his hips making love to the mike his words are thunder lightning bolts appear from nowhere
the poems are burning in his hands the crowd is screaming for more he’s running up and down the aisle reciting the ten commandments backwards
he’s back on stage doing acrobatics the audience is spellbound the judges are frantically writing down their scores
he’s standing on his head he’s trying to raise the dead he’s brought in the Pope for a duet the guy waiting his turn looks white as a ghost
Copyright ©: A. D. Winans 
