Vicious Sid on the job
crisp evening sun he crows
pushes those cars out
exhausted full of reckless joy
Vicious Sid on the job
crisp evening sun he crows
pushes those cars out
exhausted full of reckless joy
you’re being unreasonable she pined
the back seat window rolled not half way down as if
I had power over the rain her hair
her make up those painted-on eyebrows
meant to give accent
to an accentless face and me /greybeard/
socks soaked to the bone between her
and a good hair day
dream of trees naked in the wind
those arms shivering bare brilliant against
a dirty cotton cloud backdrop / oh dream /
like those 13-year-old boy ones rampant
pure dirty unreal soft hard like the trees
that will not see Spring