Poolside (The Fiscal Cliff)

Sweet Jesus,
poolside with credit,
no cash,
but credit,
thank fuckin’ lord!
’cause this is expensive.

I stood at the edge of the pool
but didn’t quite fall in,
came close,
but I didn’t fall in.

Then it arrived,
a postcard from Pennsylvania,
it seemed so out of place.

Hey, keep the drinks coming, kid!
It’s all on account.

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Filed under outlaw poetry, poetry

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