Christmas tree so tiny
New plywood tops and men who smoke
I sit here now
Counting transients filths and shifts
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven
Where’d four go?
Ah. there he is.
Five plays a video game
Six engages in shady transactions, while
Seven just cusses a lot.
Eat yon erstwhile masterpiece
And watch as its detritus
Falls – plop! – onto my shoe
which somehow remains dim in unforgiving light.
Oki-Dog!
