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something to be on in public
around the city's sulphur skies
outside the site of some dead guy
somewhere on the south side
this young guy comes to me and says,
"this funeral is boring."
dressed in pinstriped slacks
he grins a tarnished vodka smile
pointing to a pack of smokes
i shake to say no but reply,
"the weather's not too nice."
he smells of mildew and cheap musk
probably hadn't bathed in weeks
his conversation advocated
a strong distaste for women
and looking sly he smirks again
but me
i turn to see the street
busy with activity
the birds above all heckeling
the raped and stained pedestrians
as a brown mercedes passes by
with its driver half asleep
and swerving back and forth
bewteen the ever-changing lights
smothered in his obligation
of rushing to wherever he was going.
the fag behind me lingers
for some more half-talk and candy
eyeing me with his intentions
i wander off to grab a thrifty vindication
as to amplify my thirst for authentic implications
i shovel out of my dry pockets
a lighter and my fixture
setting up for shop
i pull a drag
and sink into the cycle
[something to be on in public]
