HEAVY DUTIES.

She’d fallen asleep
In the untoward heat
Of a genail mid week day,
Having heaved
A mass of meat
And other treats
Down the occidental streets
Cleaved
From Pilsen’s beaten
Features,

And dreamed of mists
And whispers
Of distant
Times and trysts
In heavy fed systems
That she wished
Finished
As waking was hissing
And missing
Simplicity,

But once back
She thanked
Her God for the hand
He leant her landing
And she managed
To brandish
A little candour
When discussing plans
To shop and bank
More standardly.