Busted-Up Prince Poem by Raj Dronamraju

Crushing peanut shells between index and fore finger
The pedigree of the fist, the royal broken prince
In a puffy state of sour mash consciousness

He was more or less handsome
Depends on how you look at it
With visible blood vessels in his flattened nose
Cauliflower ears and rheumy eyes - One partially clouded with cataracts

In a crouching position
As immovable as a fire hydrant
Still strong enough for affairs of state and to jump into a bar scrap on a Saturday night

It took fourteen years to recognize the guy who jumped him one inebriated night
Now he's here at the food bank loading up on canned peaches
The busted-up prince spits phlegm into the gutter and goes to help him