Greetings from the Hill
82/88 SSW5 65%H 0719/1912
My heavens but a town divided in mind,
now a runoff between the Big Mac
and 'you can't beat our meat'....
the battle of the carnivori to be
settled after the 'Fruit Festival',
hummmm as Sloan would write.
The elitist lawyer and planning judge
not the landslide expected stuck in his mud
from eliminating too much forest...
"No leaves in the pools", smiled barehead.
A womans point of view again on the dias
in place of age with a sense of humour,
the greedy rat back, whoremaster of Duval
and Ambassador of Alcoholism.
Poor old Harry ruined by the drunken rage
and sunken vehicle of his son...
out of one of Tom's local tales,
soon forgotten but by the 'bladers'.
"But what does this mean for the future,
two years and five stars, hofuckingho,"
laughs the madone watching it all
and predicting the fall
Seasons change and chairs rearrange,
bureaucrats retire or get fired
and the politician becomes lobbiest
the lawyer changes sides
and no one writes the Truth about
resident slaves and moniest knaves.
"What about you, Mr. Golden Flake,"
laughs the oldman of the poet politician,
the editors who suck ass for ads
and pimp for realestate, gutless wimps.
Voices that speak for green trees
aqua waters, rainbows of blossoms,
and even butterflies...all free.
"Fuck these pricetag makers for the Gullible,
rapers of blue sky victims in paradise,
outrageous chargers of illusion, delusion,
'take a drunk down whorehouse lane',
and send him home on a plane,"
growls the madone, too old to care,
too contended to dare,
and too poor for the fare.
Classics from Havana, a silent house,
a slight breeze from the south,
cats fed, plants watered, floors swept.
Getting weaker every day with age,
reading too much of Vidal and Bashinsky,
distressed with the american way of greed
that personifies in a tourist town,
"A hundred dollar bill gets lunch
and not even an insult," musing
over times past that didn't last.
Time to get a life
maybe a new wife.
A slight breeze in the keys,
these Isles of Eternal Sun.