The Swamp.
The barstool intellectuals cozy up
to the ne’er-do-wells on the bar
stools of this misbegotten city that
is the subject of our present hope.
Elsewhere, they’re shooting up
in the alley that will too soon
become a mall. The subject
of me finds himself in a state
of mock shock, having happened
upon the future shopping center.
Sidelong glances whiz back and
forth between the margarita
surfaces and the bleared eyes of
those up with whom we cozy.
