Nice White Polo

I abide a guitar solo,
By Gary Clark Jr. who is a demon,
A demon, If I ever saw one,
With a wide-brim hat and banjo, that boy.
And his unhinged, epileptic crowd of whores and hippies in my ears.
This becomes my strong reason to resist devils.
In the crowd,
One watches me watch her,
In this communal fugue of ganja and venereal need,
Her come-hither eyes burns, drowns, prays –
Freshly dined on a respectable sum of calamity,
They eat me up, without festival.
I sense her Siberian regards,
Her festering company,
Her finger-pointing,
Her up-turned hawk nose.
And I wonder if she sees my iniquities too,
The disease that I now represent,
The brute that I am,
In a nice white Polo.
On this day of our lord and savior,
There exists even now,
Many more like us,
Animals on the prowl,
Dogs eating dogs,
Many of us,
In nice white Polos.
Animals, all.

Image: The Love Potion, Beatrice Offor (1864–1920) | The Love Potion Photo credit: Bruce Castle Museum (Haringey Culture, Libraries and Learning)

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