My original title for this was: Welcome to Tampa, Asshole, but that seemed a little harsh.
The ones who took the bus to set the silver
As you drove, who crossed the desert
Overnight, describe their versions of
Privation as you stuff your bloated face.
Let's let them ask how much you need.
Your hair is perfect, and your teeth.
Your house is large. You make a lot
Of money from your leather chair,
But you complain they're not enough.
You want for nothing, but for this:
Some proof that you and yours are
Grand, and all these others, unlike
You, are wretched, and always will be.
You cast about for confirmation.
Let the waiters say.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 14 times
Written on 2012-09-01 at 16:26
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Brunch in Tampa
Let's let the waiters have their say. Let's letThe ones who took the bus to set the silver
As you drove, who crossed the desert
Overnight, describe their versions of
Privation as you stuff your bloated face.
Let's let them ask how much you need.
Your hair is perfect, and your teeth.
Your house is large. You make a lot
Of money from your leather chair,
But you complain they're not enough.
You want for nothing, but for this:
Some proof that you and yours are
Grand, and all these others, unlike
You, are wretched, and always will be.
You cast about for confirmation.
Let the waiters say.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 14 times
Written on 2012-09-01 at 16:26
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
 by Lawrence Beck Latest textsIllFor Isabelle Unsightly Not the Man He Was The Minutes Crawl Past |
Increase font
Decrease