Spit Me To The Bucket
Fireflies catch my eye and burn the night.
Smog and smoke cloak the bustle underneath.
Set alight the stars and scorch them bright.
I’ll dye with the cork lying tight in my teeth.
Ahem.
Between travel and work you pollute my lungs.
Now rest easy little heart when the burn turns red;
The clog is merely a fix in making me numb.
You can spit me to the bucket when the stick is dead.
Ahem.
Embers and ash rise from the nearby trash,
to a drove of sheep with a box and a match.
With no shepherd in tow and a life so slow
To merely pass the time we are left to smoke.
This joke is not a joke… Hooraaaaaah!
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