Mister Bling's Blues

Trapped in a suit
among stern
faces waiting for a train
he still believes in the beauty
of a burst of birds above them.

Yesterday at lunch he wrote a song
called “I Don’t Want No Mung Bean Soup!”
(to be performed by an eventual
band bound for Chicktown
in a stale beer bar near you).

One rhyme
(“the working class
rakes capital’s ass!”)
makes him laugh huz-uz-uz!
to himself every time.

Last month he asked
his boss who asked
him to staple his papers for him
“What am I? Made of mayonnaise?”
and to this day his load is lighter.

And this kid beside him
with the pale slack floursack
face and buds in his ears
may well smell the world
(who knows?) through a rose nose…

Why shouldn’t this be a great day?



.