a poem for king feddy

perspective†

look over the rooftops
at the gravel mired in tar
and think about the problems below

there seems to be no hope
four years of college
with at least three more to go

and you wonder why you're up here
high in this tree
as the wind starts to blow

{† bukowski reminded me of this -- i should un-rhyme it, but i'm
leaving it for now.}