the corner of
a dark street
near rogue jedi's
favourite tree where
three weasels in
red and white
tweed jackets were
roughing up the
poor little gophers
sitting watching me
by tying there
tails in knots
and stuffing their
noses with cabbage
that was rotten
and smelt like
finti's armpit after
spending a night
with an ugly
in the gym