And so he sat next to me,
his bloodhound pacing the bus floor,
Round and round in a tight circle,
before settling at our feet.
Sadness hung on the young man
like a soggy blanket,
And my
observation, sharpened by intuition
led me to venture...
"It's cold out tonight."
He startled and smiled: "Why yes, yes it is".

(What do we do for the downtrodden?)

"Is this the bus to Capitol Hill?
I'm going to buy groceries,
my boy here is hungry  and I hope one is still open".
I looked at him closely
"No, this one goes to Queen Anne,
everything's closed for the evening.
Maybe I'm wrong,
I don't think you're okay,
Somehow I know
you're not telling the truth".

He sighed and shrank into himself,
"You guessed right-- I am homeless,
On the streets for a year now.
Me and my buddy,
with no end in sight".

(What do we do for the downtrodden?)

"They took all my things
when my car was broke into,
My entire world shattered with the blow of a hammer,
But at least I've got him,
and he glanced towards his companion,
I'll find a warm vent,
and we'll sit there til morning."

Bartell's was still open
and I opened my wallet,
Some soup, of course, dog food,
roast beef hash and hot tea,
"Please find a good doctor, there are many to help you,
I can tell that you're suffering, give you and buddy a new life."
He thanked me and with a whistle
called the bloodhound to him,
They turned right towards Lake Union,
Fading into the night.

(What do we do for the downtrodden?)

**** it, did you just light your hookah?
I was hoping to have a cozy chat about the world of the Red Queen
Not the Mary Jane land you think to lead me into
where you live out your lust-filled dreams,
I was hoping for a little bit of tea
and gossip,
just as we used to when we were younger and unknown
I don't want to sit on the wet grass while you boast about your brain size
--Or other measurements--
the talk always ends up
with you under the mushroom,
giggling like a hyena,
and me just standing there,
tapping my slippered foot in disgust.

It takes a fair amount of confidence
and a good-sized ego,
To drop the line and coolly walk away,
Certain that she will take the bait...

Sometimes I'm rain when I appear sunny,
Grey when I 'm actually blue,
My ups moving towards downs,
Inner turbulence masked with a smile.
I'm eternally aware of the butterflies,
Circling my seeking mind,
Scary-fascinated when hell
breaks loose,
And the butterflies dance towards freedom...

"Lady Liberty must die," the Orange King mused,
"Public opinion is not how I got this job.
My fame must be locked in,
A surefire certainty,
My praises sung for generations to come".
He sat up straighter on his gold-plated throne and
Imperiously called for the bards.
"Make it known in the kingdom", he intoned with a frown,
"That Liberty has repeatedly lied.
She's quite fake, in fact she's a bore,
Outdated and certainly no style!"
A bard raised his hand,"Sir, I will do as you ask,
Your greatness is apparent to all,
You can rest quite content
By the time I am done
Lady Liberty will be comatose!"
And it happened to pass all over the land,
Posters placed where the public would see,
Liberty's depravity laid bare,
(She hated the Orange King),
She must pay for her
outrageous crimes.
Many were horrified
But some people cheered,
The Orange King was free at last,
With Lady Liberty gone,
A new day would dawn,
"It is time to recover our past".

Maybe, just maybe...
America gets lucky,
****** gets vaporized!