Poem by Jonathan Hayes

Lunch Break at Borders

As I walk out after being checked by loss control
and step through Bloomies and the mall
onto wet February Market Street with an hour
to score and get some dinner for this p.m. break.

Halfway down Market after Sixth Street
I see a crezoid weed hustler who hits me
with a small ten sack of grapes, but the buds are tight
so I walk back with product to the mall and Borders
and enjoy my pink grapefruit waiting for me at the
break room table, while we watch the
first season of “Weeds.”

Post gig:

A purple “puff” at home is all E.T. was saying…


Dig,
dug?


Q-Bert was naturally selected out!