DENNIS HERTZ

Chippy the chip guy,

white van, bow tie –

here comes the drunk guy

bickering over French fries.

“I’ve come to Canada to make a good life,

I drive around the chip van to escape my fattened wife.”

 

One, two, three, the junkie’s weight,

fist in his right pocket looking for the eight.

Harelip Lester,

prone to fester,

here and there,

with two-tone hair.

 

Long ago a might brave

now gathers butts like scalps to save.

 

Here come the gothics, funeral fauw pas,

they puke in urinals and jerk off in spas.

 

“Twenty dollars, me so horny,

husband gone on long boat journey.”

 

Moral icons,

courier cyclones,

disturbing scents,

cologne for gents…

 

A magnificent show for bums like me,

whiskey drenched.  I clap in glee.

Where else would I possibly want to be?