by Jon Pelletier

Created on: October 15, 2009

I called it afternoon

I dropped down to the basket

Asked her to confuse me

Spoke like a sliding ape

The little mad boy mumbles at me

Nobody else can see him

But he is right beside me

His hair is greasy and long

He buried an American flag

Crossed his arms and wiped them off

I called it afternoon

But it was mid morning

I stammered while I was corrected

It was the tone of the voice

That tore me

The little mad boy jumps to his feet

He puts on his hat and belittles my space

He twists his cane bat and drips from the chin

He holds me in chain and fades the all in

He takes a rhyme scheme and trusts I don't live

The devil himself

That is who he is

I called it afternoon

I dropped down to the basket

Asked her to confuse me

Spoke like a sliding ape

He told me it was morning

The little mad boy

Swore I never seen such a vice

Laughing he clasped his hands twice

Here to set things right

I felt the same

So we got up to leave

Coffee and cigarettes were nice

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