Monday, August 17, 2015

7041. 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.
I can't admit to correctness, and this is just the way it is.

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