Sorceriffic Ass

Vicious eyes,
ferocious mile, and an
ass that begged to be
rubbed all night, like
Buddha promising good luck.
But what that
ass brought was
life under a bridge,
jail, soup lines, and
homeless shelters.

The heart pounds the
head, then the feet pound
the streets,
walking mile after mile,
aimless roaming
doe eyed thinking:

What went wrong?
Where the hell did
I go wrong?

Then it dawns on
me like the dew
soaked morning.

It was the ass.
Always that
sorceriffic ass.

by Thomas W. Case

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