A conceit; imagining Ogden Nash meeting John Betjeman
Bel Air
Oh Syd, you poor rich kid;out for a drive that day,
in your Papa’s Chevrolet;
with Lana your choicest lay.
Driving at too high a speed,
tanked on Bourbon, and weed;
So, you misjudged the corner,
drifting too far wide to see,
the inevitability of gravity.
Was it then a kind of release,
from all parental authority,
into your own immortality?
© D G Moody 2022
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: Bene Rioba
Poetry by D G Moody
Read 258 times
Written on 2022-12-17 at 18:56
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