Friday, April 30, 2010

Poem 21 - Bike Wars part 3

Before Benoit Returned to France

Your bare feet this night have seen roof tiles
A cereal box covers your head
Your blood is ninety-eight percent whiskey
You ride your bike like the living dead

You pedal blindly on into a policeman
With Breathalyzer in mouth, you pee on his shoe
He's yelling but you don't hear it through your
Native tongue mutter of f*** you

He gives you a BUI and handcuffs
He holds you in a cell for the whole night
Then next morning urges you out without charges
To ensure that you catch your flight

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