Vicious eyes,
ferocious smile, and an
ass that begged to be
rubbed all night, like
Buddha promising good luck.
But what that
ass brought was
life under a bridge,
jail, soup lines, and
homeless shelters.
The heart pounds the
head, then the feet pound
the streets,
walking mile after mile,
aimless roaming
doe eyed thinking:
What went wrong?
Where the hell did
I go wrong?
Then it dawns on
me like the dew
soaked morning.
It was the ass.
Always that
sorceriffic ass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem