habits of the flesh

by March 30, 2019 0 comments

When a bum gets old and sick
his teeth decay,
he passes wind
and wind comes back all heartless cold

…he feeds his cold with laudanum
…the charity dentist clears his mouth
of uppers, lowers, north and south

in freezing winter clinics
where winter says “not snow…just rain”

oh let me suck the ripple down
and smoke a dozen cigarettes at once
…and sleep near the bridge…this frozen town.

Oh let me die …a dog! a dunce!
Oh let us lie down
but feel no pain!

editors note:

Who’s the bum, when we wish the same? Please, no pain, no pain. – mh clay

Leave a Reply