Seeps into the pores
of slenderly-sliced tomato.
Nestled in the crackling contours
of my costcutter carrier-bag;
Accompanied by a warm mug
between the morning's climb
And the afternoon decsent.
Everybody is going to the party
Have a real good time
Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine
presidents fight the war?
Why do they always send the poor?