by Bill Yarrow
Villon, you've got to stop following me around!
It's enough already. I'm not going to tell you
where I've hidden the loot. Touchez pas au grisbi.
Villon, get the hell outta here!
My work is dangerous and you're an orphan.
Go back to the reformatory and paint with oil.
Villon, I'm not going to tell you again.
Shoo. Vamoose. Scram. Take a hike!
If I see you here again, I'll beat you like a dead horse.
All rights reserved.
This poem was accepted by Lady Jane's Miscellany. That was four years ago. I'm still waiting for Issue Three to appear. It could happen!
This poem appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX 2012).
Francois Villon: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fran%C3%A7ois_Villon
Touchez pas au grisbi: