baseman's buddhism

shambling down dusty street

past Londis with empty pockets

in silent film,

i saw a woman finely dressed

drop her bag,

it glistened in my mind’s eye,

like a gift from a god

i don’t believe in,

i hadn’t eaten for days, nor

had food for the week,

and i’m no saint,

too English to be apostle,

and i thought for a long long second

of leaning over a steaming Domino’s

stuffed crust pizza -

with extra mushrooms, and a can of Coke.

of smoking a fat pack of Mayfair

cigarettes

with several coffees afterwards with cream,

that would be nice,

and i picked up the purple

strapless leather,

and instead . . .  gave it back

after jogging 30 yards down

a suburban side road.

oblivious �" she couldn’t hear

my quiet-voiced-clam-shell-calls . . .

 

 

and the reason i tell you this,

because it happened some years ago,

was not just

because it felt good-to-do-good,

whereas the contrary would also

have been true,

but because -

 

 

and this is what the more refined

Siddhartha Gautama

couldn’t say,

 

 

i get bragging rights,

thank you,

thank you,

 

 

i was poor,

and ugly with malnutrition,

and schizo too,

 

 

and i gave it back,

i gave it back,

 

 

f**k you media moguls

with your sensationalism and clichés

 

 

i gave it back!

 

 

f**k you -

 

 

cpn’s and social workers

of the world -

 

 

i gave it back,

 

 

bragging rights! yeah?!

 

 

why?

 

 

‘cause i gave it back!

 

 

thank you!

thank you!

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[...]

. ha ha ! ... you are absolutely brilliant, monsieur !!! ... this piece is absolutely phenomenal !!! ... i relate to so many things you say here and so intensely ... social activists know nothing ... you are a hero, monsieur ... and you have the spirit of a gem of a human being ... it's a privilege to know you and to read this spectacular piece of poetry ... :) ...