Somedays

11/14/90

Somedays it’s hot all around the world, The sun burns its little inchworm pixels into my skin.

I don’t have a camel To take me across the desert, I don’t have gasoline, my camel drank it all.

I don’t have a housewife To clean my house, I don’t even have a saxophone to annoy The upstairs neighbors,

I just have my ass, To sit in a bright blue room,

I wonder if my life Is a clerical err, born a pharaoh, or just another son Of God and civil servants, Did they forget the certificate, my social security number, I’ve forgotten it, Then the lady cries like Mohammedan soothsayer From minaret, “Next.”

“I remember you,” said the old lady, Modern blasphemy, four years old, pissing in my shrubbery.

“My how you’ve suffered,” I said to her