pagan traditions
called Christian
dot the marketplace
face to face
with the race to place the best display case
on front street
beating feet I retreat
feeling mistreated
I stop for a treat
both salty and sweet
my need is complete –
fleet of foot,
I stagger not
as I leap the creepy sheep
eyeballs pressed to the glass
fascists passing off as classy
massively underestimating
the passion of the impoverished
wishing the dish next to me liked to kiss
I blissfully whistle into the wind –
laboriously porous
the stories hold no weight
only serving to date me
plated and shelved I delve into other interests
such as the tide pools
old fools and the perfect guitar playing stool
drool pools
your interest wanes
it’s plain to see this has lost direction
yet here we are
together again…
I see you –