This is about this guy i saw the other weekend that was super hardcore. We had to write a couplet poem, so here it is
Dreadlock Frost
The flakes tumble from the bleak grey sky,
The birds no longer chirp or cry.
Buckles click and snap in place,
Snowflakes burn his ungroomed face.
Duct taped gloves jam on frosted fingers,
The aroma of weed, still lingers
The chairs creak around the gate,
The cue moves slowly, still he waits.
The chair greets the back of his knees,
A cigarette, a cough, a quiet sneeze.
A lone lock covered in ice,
His tam from Jamaica now infested with lice.
The soft mountain snow awaits his 203’s,
The dreadlocked man is finally set free.
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