PILED UP
You're piled up, like the planes leaving Newark -
and where do you go and where are they going?
Any other God-damned thing would have me
wincing, not caring about Elizabeth - that putrid,
piece of shit city with a groin for brains and Mexicans
for pets - midget landscapers cutting trees and snickering
as they laugh, wearing enormously beaded Mexican hats,
bigger than colored sombreros, bigger than trucks. Their
corn-fed ladies are midgets too, and husky : four kids
on each hand, and the future of Death they bring on this
land. My own carriage cart is filled with their dumb lingo.
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I can't admit to correctness, and this is just the way it is.
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