awkwardly tilted to the left
miranda rights and all
i'm not sure they'll find me yet
crates and barrels along the sewer path
dead fish buried amongst the poor and
trodden down
the ones they couldn't eat, you know
the lady frowned and burned her stockings
couldn't go to the loo so quickly
she said
i jazzed up some concoction
held it up to the sky
winked at my neighbor
and drank slowly
you see
it's passion that buries the hatchet
creates wonder and joy
not a schilling or a cent
a mental journey folds
in the town near my birth
one, two, three
four
you
adt
short hills, nj
Copyright 2010 all rights reserved arpit d. trivedi
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