She holds her coke can tight up to her chest; what's in it,
Is anybody's guess; she takes it everywhere.
I don't like to pry,
But I swear she looks a mess,
Rotten teeth and greasy hair.
But, she's such good fun,
She's always up for games.
I confess,
I never focus on the shame.
This was her best,
And she just let it slide away.
She drank the rest,
On one sweltering hot day.
And we stood by,
And let her do this to herself; then raised the cry,
As we stacked her on the shelf.
There was a moment,
In the distant days gone by;
We could have helped her,
But we left her to get by.
.......................................
This is an unfinished poem. Still very much a work in progress
Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated. It's missing something, but I am not quite sure what.