Wishful thinking

There she was
Alone I could tell
Going her way
Late on Line 9
Looking friendly
Pretty enough
For some reason
I felt that
Out of all possible worlds
I could love her
Like some birds never miss
But I didn’t dare
Talk to her
She got off
At Bonne Nouvelle
Having never seen me


Fat Tuesday in Odense, Denmark

I was surrounded by a bunch of Vikings and I didn’t like the look of it and, obviously, they didn’t like the look of me. We were downtown Odense, Denmark, in front of the club where I hung out just about every nights. And there were this huge deaf-mute female and her huger friend, also a deaf-mute female, screaming at me.

These blondes were bitching hard and the crowd, growing by the minute, although it couldn’t understand a word, knew they were bitching hard at me. A deaf-mute speech often resumes into growls. That was the case.

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No love lost

The blonde doesn’t look happy at all
And neither does he
But he’s the sheepish one
She stands erect, her head away as if he stunk
Nobody gets lucky tonight I think
He’s holding two red roses
That he probably saw fit to haggle over
With some sad Paki wetback
He doesn’t know
What to do with them now
Doesn’t dare to waste them
He knows that people
On this late train
When most everyone is so damn tired
Have seen his sorry ass
Holding his sorry roses
The blonde makes him feel it
Roses have thorns I think
Oh hell
I just want to go home

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Blind mice (and deaf-mute)

Line 9
Good part of town
For once not so crowded a train
All people are white
All decent people they seem
The train’s wheels creaks
But there’s an eerie silence in that car
They’re all, ALL, tinkering with
A machine of sort
Looking dull
Thirty years ago they’d have been smoking
Looking dull
But for an old lady
Deeply reading a book and
A solitary black kid
Deeply reading
A serious newspaper
I’ll put my two cents
On him

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