Like a king about to address his people,
I look down at the world from my balcony
as she stares back boldfaced at me.
A blue lawn chair throne is my royal seat,
when I’m resting here my shoulders brush
with prophets and peasants, saints and sinners
The smell of water fills the air,
electricity arcs from the ground,
stretching gnarly fingers to the clouds,
and my cigarette chokes out faster than
a candle cast overboard into deep prehistory.
What is the meaning of this?
My smoke is gone, the old man quit me,
the rumors are true, the realm’s in upheaval,
the people shout, “The king be removed! ”