POEM: MARTÍN WAS HIS NAME

Wanted

A kind and gentle soul
Martin was his name
Who came from the slums of the hood
One that would sell all for a meal
He knocks on the door
I open to greet
Martin stood there with a machine
“¿Lo quieren comprar?” was Martins question
But little did we know Martin was so sneaky
A week before he was helping my dad
Took his screw-gun and now here he stands
My father would check and his initials were there
Oh this kind soul we would not disown
But today he would leave us all alone
Poor Martin man of the streets
Trying to sell my father back his machine

Copyright © Juan N. Bonilla All Rights Reserved
Credit Image HERE
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