Alms Za Try N To Reach Out As Legatee Wannabe
Alms Za Try'n To Reach Out As Legatee Wannabe
Yukon pots sib bully challah me Jude
dish hiss literary panhandler schlepping
along virtual figurative boulevard Asia
brogue kin bloke rattling tin cup aware
how quickly passersby dodge away as
if I got some incurable fatal disease,
which choice donning schnorrer roll
barley bread within these genes, and
leavened during years as flour child,
now dem years, where boyhood
penuriousness found prior once pip
squeak punkish kid, now scavenging
analogous to Dicken's poverty stricken
London), one lone backstreet beastie boy,
(albeit naive, innocent harmless, et cetera),
quite vulnerable to elements (periodically
tabling something wicked that invariably
came my way), but Justine Nick O' Time
plucked me out the maws obviously saving
worse fate than death (still waiting for Godot),
asper living scrounging for measly morsels
to stave off starvation, a smidgen moldy
stale vegetable, way overripe fruit crawling
with maggots (ah...protein), or ziplocked
airtight sweet treat, yet most scouting around
to treasure handful of grub met yours truly
with defeat, especially competing, (asper
survival of fittest), a ratty matted pack of
wild hungry animals (humans indistinguishable
among hordes), and singular primal sounds
comprised soul fully bellowing warning, and
no matter these poor looking mangy ravenous
skin and bones managed mustered guarding
spit of territory issuing threatening guttural
growling, a warning other predators took
seriously otherwise, they (ragtag motley crue
most often banded together) could find their
defiling ranks decreased, the weakest among
scraggly bunch taken down with ease, which
ruthless occasions found yours truly secreting
his bonafide bony hide, lest he get snapped up,
without warning one fell swoop, would mercilessly
clutch this forever pencil necked scrawny geek,
and attempt squeezing livingsocial daylights,
but not without fighting spirit, ("FAKE" Irish
seeps out), perhaps suffering minor cuts and
bruises, whereat remembrance, when long dip
hearted dearly mother enforced telling extremely
shy lad (barely resembling wasted weasley wobegon
whippersnapper scratching out illegible words
writ with blood (tragi-comic farcical ploy)
imagining philanthropic stranger whisking
(after sharing whiskey) one speck of flotsam
within jetsam amidst whirled wide web deriving
cold comfort (southern, when heading to warmer
clime during) bitterly cold nasty not so short winter
(lasting a bajillion years) hankered when sizzling
dog days o' summer return with vengeance.
Copyright ©
Matthew Harris
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