The old man shakes his cane at the dirty mouth of youth,
while the rag-tag love of modernity
fades even
deeper into the fumes of panic,
paycheque to paycheque,
commuters "confront the daily setbacks,"
I breathe in deep,
with graveled breath,
and my winding thoughts,
to placate the ache of the past night,
school boys clown and ladies scold,
drive throughs buzz and click,
this corroding body,
this bruised city,
like the empty kiss of some effervescent serpentine,
like the pull of some cold dark water rushing,
spare your pontification,
your eager
suggestion,to accept your position,
so that I may be miserable like you,
...for I am but a layman,
I see things for what they are,
and I will carry my own bags.
