A Dreadful Luncheonette - Poem by Maynard Hartman
Can you smell the diesel…even the bus chokes.
Ice cream melts…it’s the bus stop way;
a sweltering, stinking summer’s hot day
That bitch is crazy, she don’t know those birds
are intent on her lunch. It’s an economic crunch.
Or a pigeon politic.
She balances on her hip,
a ‘have a nice day’ umbrella,
then uses it to drive home her point.
Back off fella, I’m trying to tell ya,
those birds are mine.
I’ve been feeding them a long, long time,
and I intend to dine.
Just me...and this bottle of two-dollar wine.
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