bruiserboy

-LePage-
Its hot tonight in the city of sticks,
the flies circle, feed and suckle,
garbage rots on the roadside,
and rubber souls roast on the black top
I sit on my roof, sipping cold ale,
wishing I were there next to you,
or ignorant enough to be content
with life in a dead New England town
I can smell the tar from the roadwork,
and the bread baking at LePage,
theyre thick, like licorice and yeast,
sweet, inviting, and caustic up close