Sometimes I Feel Helpless. How Wistful
In the whistling
Of anywhere USA.
At the bus-stop.
A police officer
Reflects their brake lights
In a mud-puddle.
And down the street
I find a rainbow
In a puddle of gasoline.
Near the entrance
Of the gas station,
A meth-head scratches their pock marks.
They adjust their genitals
“Hey man...my car ran out of gas
Can you spare some change?
I need to get home.”
I haven't eaten all day.
“**** off. I am hungry.”
The porcelain throne
Surrounding the bowl.
Accentuating the shape
Like contour lines.
I add some class
And decorate it
In golden sprinkles.
Watch a fortune
Under the blinking shadows
Caused by a dying florescent bulb.
I walk outside,
Feel around in my pocket.
There's a tiny copy
Leaves of Grass.
That by osmosis
I can live out
It would get this bad.
A.j. Binash's Other Poems
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