Star spangled waves
on a sea of potent tar
As the roofer lays
his heart is warm

The dealer on the street
A worthy friend of his
His beard a wire brush
Scratches whore skin daily

Dope fiends need places
To stash late night hits
and thus we provide
the required lofty planes

And prostitutes rely on
the brawn and honor of
the back alley bouncer
who wanted to be a poet

There is a mystic breeze
That keeps us cool
In a constant burning summer
That makes the asphalt shine

It comes with the echo of
lonely steps on dirty pavement
Enjoyed by those who smile
at the absurd reflections

A roofer, a bouncer, a dealer
all students of the unnamed
sometimes share a bottle of rum
with the dead of this place

Their minds, quite naturally
on all the undefined little things
that are best expressed
by the silence between swigs

Tomorrow, the burning tar will flow again
Hundreds of lil bags will be pushed
Ample prostitute flesh will be groped
and stinky bums will be kicked out of bars

In this cozy strange corner of the city
we drink to that and all else that comes

Fotios, July 2004