Poems ✍️
  14.09.2026
  1

Author: Herbert Nehrlich

To A Teen

Tom's buddy ran a secret lab,
made funny little pills.
The gift he had was of the gab:
'My uppers cure all ills.'
He drove his shiny Yellow Cab
through Walla Walla's hills,
meticulously keeping tab
on all the moonshine stills.
One day a patron took a stab
thus wiping all his bills,
they laid him on a concrete slab,
don't choose this life. It kills.


  recklessness underworld consequence mortality

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