Shooting Dope With Puddle Water
SHOOTING DOPE WITH PUDDLE WATER
I was walking through puddles of oatmeal
As other folks drove behind a steering wheel
I was stuck in a park putrefied by puke
With no apologies nor lies I wished to rebuke
I was floating in a lake filled with dog s**t
Lucky there were no dogs present who bit
However there was this tiger running loose
As I watched that tiger consume a goose
at this time I really don’t want to haggle
But it could have been one goose or a gaggle
I was trying to ignore the ignorance all around
While more oatmeal headed for holy ground
Someone stole the soapbox I preached upon yesterday
But it’s difficult to stand on a soapbox with feet of clay
For I am a man who feels that every man’s death is mine
And instead of oatmeal I wished it would rain some vintage wine
Oatmeal, dog s**t, a tiger and some geese
While psychotic psychics profess there will never be any peace
After my soapbox was stolen I would just going around asking anyone
Will this be the kind of land and legacy I want to leave for my grandson?
(2001)… ….free cee (this poem is dedicated to a little boy whose whole journey through
adolescence I am missing, because 4,000 miles of tar, brick and the sea separate the proudest
grandfather and Mr. T.I. (I am required to use initials so as not to give away a son’s concern)
as cute a kid that ever was aloud to be little, happy and have a father as his best friend, and his
mom as a “dedicated mother rather than a regimented wife.” May he grow up in a world
wherein everyone finds comfort in every one and courtesy with respect from everyone alive)
Copyright © Jeffry Cohan | Year Posted 2011
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