Lunch (don’t) break

Outside the trees are green and the sky shows pity

In here a man spits bullets

Casting judgements from a loonie bin

The gravity will pop out my eyes

Only if I let him in

This is America where the poets are ignored

I have nothing to worry about

Sometimes the only weapon I have

Is to eat slowly and watch them sweat

As their ears ring from their own weight

And the clouds make shapes

And the radio supplies the tempo

One thought on “Lunch (don’t) break”

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