Full moon over the Greenwich Hills

Full moon over the Greenwich Hills.
The mansions’ windows shine with TV blue
I arrive at the estate’s small house with a pint of vodka
$8 and a bottle of lemonade.
I check the fires.
Tonight the moon is
Full and silver.
I stand on the long lawn and drop my trousers
No one is at the mansion
I squat low
I don’t need to grunt
Shitting on a rich man’s lawn come so easy
A dog barks from the kennel
His friends bark too
They smell my shit
It’s real shit
I stand
I pull up my jeans
I haven’t changed clothes in three days
To me I don’t smell dirty
I howl at the moon
The dogs join me
Next summer this grass will be tall.
But tomorrow the shit will freeze with the morning
The dogs will not bark at cold poo.

This entry was written by Peter, posted on December 14, 2016 at 8:16 pm, filed under Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.

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