fat and salt sizzle like summer
carried on the breeze up to my door
my apartment in the dingbat is up the street
the plaza crooner gestures and flicks
a bolero from his fingers
some coins tossed in his case
the dog hunts for french fries near the man
bruised and unshorn, closing his eyes toward peace
on a mattress stained by sweat and stink
on Friday nights the cars proliferate
they slam their doors, blare their horns
the tuning of the world
closing his eyes toward peace!
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