The last stand of a P. Americana

she shrieks, callz her boyfriend over to me.

He is bizzy, he cannot help her- but she loaves my

Prezence

i for one am quite happy, to lay on this black floor

smell the warm roast of coffee beanz in the

aire.

i glance at the eyes, of passing loverz, and poetz and

of elderly men talking about politicz and the

weather.

i yet, am nothing to them, i am bred in thousandz but

when the bombz drop on this place, whoz left in the

drovez?

i see my life pazz before my eyez, as hiz feet smash

me with no remorse, my gutz lie spread on ze floor

lifeless.

he picks up my carcazz, and throwz it in the cobbled

street, to be taken by the birdz, and thus endz my

stand.