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A Story to Tell

Most women are happy
When greatly endowed
With a bosom that’s ample,
Stick out in a crowd,

While men will enjoy
The view near and far,
Forever they’d feast
At a bosom bizarre.

But a certain young lady
Owes her life to her chest
And the garment she wears
In support of her breast.

Alone in her home
On the streets of Detroit,
The safety of night
A thug would exploit.

The sounds of a gun
Erupting outside
So she looked through her curtain
From her window inside.

When a bullet crashed though
The window and struck
Her underwire bra -
Misfortune’s good luck.

Deflecting the slug,
That harmlessly fell
To the ground she was left
With a story to tell. 
Published inPoetry

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