Saturday, April 02, 2011

Postcard from The Prodigal Son (Prompt: Postcard Poem)

Dear older brother,

You were right. It wasn’t as good
as I thought it was going to be.
Nothing ever is, I guess.

I’ve run out of money
and I’m living behind someone’s barn.
I steal scraps from what they feed
their animals to eat.

Is Dad still mad at me?
Do you think I could come home?
Can you speak to him on my behalf? Please?

Remind him that
everyone makes mistakes.
I hope I see you again,

love, me

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