Tomorrow’s Leftovers
An ‘out of order’ poem
Tomorrow’s leftovers
Already rotting in the fridge
Dead dove - do not eat
We go to the moon
We drag our knuckles
What felt like progress
Must have been an illusion
Putin in Ukraine
Netanyahu in Gaza
Trump says hold my beer
Can’t even predict the past now
Fragile monsters need protection
From their conscience
Truth and lies and AIs
In a love triangle
Another thing led to one
And look who got custody
Of the kids in the divorce
They fuck it all up for us
Then hide from the consequences
I’ll tell you about their plan
Quiet piggy
About the Creator
Leslie Writes
Another struggling millennial. Writing is my creative outlet and stress reliever.
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