poem morning
Mind you, my dear
this morning I do not have a lot of patience
.
And the baseball bat is well hidden under his jacket.
When, as usual, brushing steps
seventy per hour on the pedestrian crossing
not you'll be pleased to hear the clang against the right door of the SUV
Milanese your ride black cock.
***
Five pounds of bricks
already inside my briefcase.
to accidentally fall on your hood shining, roaring snarling cellulardotato
when overtaking on the right tram stop
children backpacks mothers get off at the school.
***
Aerodynamics plastic mom, explain to me but to those who
but to where
for what you have to run to cross with the red
controviale the rushing river and the wheelchair
car full of your baby?
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