Posted in Slightly Wrong Poetry

My helmet

When people ask me why I like

To wear my helmet when I bike

I tell them that my head is made of people

Not of concrete.

 

So when I’m gunning down a hill

And suddenly I take a spill

My head is made of people still

And not dogmeat.

 

 

Wear your helmet, folks!

 

For more rubbishy old poems, try this.

Author:

Copywriter. Poet. Lyricist.

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