Drifters

I hate the drifters

That come from city to city

Hole to hole

They just come here to steal, absorb and conquer

They dig their trenches

And bury us in our flooded redness

Beat

And felt up like a hell-hole

Of under represented

Not respected twenty-eights

Drifters

Those fuckers

The nerve of them

Giving me unordered spinal-taps

Making me have oral condensation

Listening to star

They come and go

Travel on

But I don’t need them

Or you

Because you abused

You used

You are a drifter

I hate those drifters

In and out they come

They never stay a while

For a cup of English tea

They take away our teddy bears

No try-ons, just thieves

Everyone is like a walking sarcophagus

Filled with freshly read newspapers

They borrow and burrow deep down inside

They don’t get to know

The take and never give

Those drifters

The just spend your money

And waste your time for some delight

And leave out the back door

With your warm towel

Damn drifters.

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.05.10.02:05:04 @ 296

99.05.11.12:17:28 @ 296

99.05.13.13:32:25 @ 1515