pork pie
pork pie
I had gone to a poetry meeting
the organizer had supplied pork pie and tea
Nothing was expected of me, all I had to do
was to nod my head sagely and applaud
the readers.
A female poet of sweet verses saw me
putting pork pies in my pocket, we got talking
she offered to drive me home
but since I didn't have a home, we drove to hers
I ended up staying there until spring
when ducks in the pond fly to a secret place
for their spring break
I took the train to another town and quickly
got a job as a doorman at a posh restaurant
On the other side of my workplace, a small
cake shop where I sat before my shift and met
Yesmin, the love of my life
Charity should not replace dignity
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