the prose of cons

by J.C.

THERE'S something odd about the tobacco my neighbor buys.
he rolls his own Camels, and everytime i smoke with him,
i slip into this alternate universe, or some shit.

when i got home last night, i made a batch of marinara sauce.
and, there weren't even any tomatoes in the house.
The Beach Boys sounded like The Mamas & Papas,
Tom Waits sounded like a wounded coyote,
and when i woke up this morning, my bed was filled with purple kittens.

still, at my 9-5 today, i yearned for another puff or two.
i'm Head of Security at the Wal*Mart out in Wading River.
and, i think it's a crime that nobody robs this place blind.

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