Town Crier
Published in
1 min readJan 8, 2020
“It’s ten o’clock and all is well,”
You crow, as if the gates of hell
Weren’t creaking open, sulfur fumes
Engulfing all our living rooms.
A barker in red hat, blue tails,
You cry, you shout, you pout, you rail,
As if mere words could shape our fate.
Beware, the hour’s growing late.
