8/27/18 10:35Pm
where do you find yourself
on balmy sunday nights
when the grass has been cut
and it hangs in air like low fog
of glistening green
i find myself sitting
looking out over the lake
as urban deer stare at me
not working
i can’t believe i’m being paid
to sit here and read kerouac
i cried, before shoving corned beef
down my throat
that’s not what they pay for
you’re a janitor, wearing rags
though i still feel like a king
among the many dumpsters
waste is a theme
around my hometown
and it seems people excel
wings, riptide, dry rub
and humidity all night long