I hear the tinkle of an empty can
Play by the garage grounds
The flutter of a pigeon
Makes an irritable sound
On top of our air-conditioner
Stepping outside the balcony
Air flew right into my eyes
I winced for a bit
Until tears wet my left cheek
Having to rush inside
And cursing under my breath

I’ve nothing intelligent to say
Except that my mind is adrift
On the excitement of
Meshing mayonnaise and ketchup
To smother cold corn in
It will give me body gas for sure
But look at the amount of fs I give,
There’s a bloody sandstorm
While I’m locked indoors,
While I’m still the awkward bun,
Might as well be entertaining at it