Lemon drops melt like
Pennies on the tongue
They sting the sores in your mouth
You've dropped dollars
on each-
One too many young entrepreneurs
Told to sell citrus sores on street corners
Cause cars to slow-stop, smile
And remember:
Our duty is to make the change jar jingle
With Coppernickel piles
Of tender value; fifty cents of winking
Creased faces tumbling
In plastic cups
Talking of irony,
Per stinging sore.
Coppernickle smiles underneath your shoe
They've certainly owned slaves before-
You