Bored, board some train of thought,

destination unannounced. Reality

creaks across TV backwards,

competing with, out in parking lots,

lots and lots of harlots. The phone rings;

pick up; some dumb whore

screeching in my ear I must buy more.

Hang up, sure as hung up I am

on combing through the honey of yet

a bit more money. Ask myself,

gazing out the window at birds

jerk worms from the grass: That phone

on the TV, inside me, nextdoor to insanity

or some other not quite reality

passing now by? Onto the

screen leaps a guy

training on me a gun.

This a problem, evil about to be begun,

or the answer to nothing better to do?

Recall then for a bit of peace and quiet

I am so long overdue. Snap in the horse’s mouth

a bit like the buy the whore hot to sell.

Cramming everyone, even a bored me,

onto this winding train

huffing and puffing straight to hell.

Why, oh why, if our lot be suffering,

must it be a lot of suffering?

And the dumb whore turns to me,

into myself dumbly turning.

Willie Smith

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