Slingshot
Wrap your fingers round the handle.
Hold it firmly in your grip.
Pinch the pocket, stretch the rubber.
One smooth motion, jerk it quick.
Pulling hard you feel the tension.
When you're ready, let it rip.
Release the stony little missile.
Eyes intent, you see it zip.
Smacking home it finds its target;
stings your little playmates hip.
She spins around in shocked surprise,
rubs her rump and gives a yip.
But dry her eyes if she starts crying;
kiss her little pouting lips.
If she runs home to tell her dad,
he'll tan you with his buggy whip!
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Author guidance for This poem
feel free... I guess the topic is double entendres. 1 PARTICIPANT IN THIS POEM
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading a chapter in the poem
My Pistol. This chapter
was posted on Mar 26, 2010 by
redhat.
This is a collaborative poem.
About this poem
"A poem about how cowboy's love their guns."
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