Bob’s son is dead, his world ended a few days ago,
But he was at work today.
He looked at me and said How are you Marco,
and I didn’t really have a reply, Because
The unliving Eyes of striped bass
and rainbow trout
bore holes in the back of my head.
It stank like fish blood.
I wonder what is happening in Trinidad right now,
it’s a weird thing to wonder about
Because as far as my concern goes,
Doesn’t even exist.
To me, wage slaves in Thailand or China
are just a great bargain at K-Mart.
But what am I to those slaves,
who put the stitches in my clothing?
Do they think absently about Paterson,
and ponder How was Marco’s day?
was hen bu Hao!
The world is a psychopath,
so watch where you put those fingers and toes
And Don’t trust anyone
you wouldn’t piss in front of.