Publishers Clearinghouse Winner Poem by Bull Hawking

I'd be funny if it didn't hurt like being drug through the dirt
Seeing you starving to steak out his place
If the stakes weren't so high I'd pole vault a steer
We were both just newspaper men
I was just sports...he was cartoons
Living in your blow torch world
His lies hit your skies
Like roses touch eyes
My truth hit the ground like a Turk
So I've died an honest death...my love
I've been fried
but I'd do it the same way again
I know fried Turk is no cute cuisine
So let's close True Romance
And empty the magazine