The petty-mindedness
of the dwellers
of the world's belly-button
(or was it belly-bottom?).
The final estrangement
on my own ancestral DNA,
and good fucking riddance.
The parrots that colonised
the palm trees,
just another freak-out
in a city of them.
The druggie,
pushing his gear
and peddling Jesus
at once.
Your neighbourhood,
in which I never held your hand.
Your school,
from which I never picked you up
The medieval town,
in which I never stole a kiss from you.
Common friends,
who will see me
as the mutant freak I am.
Balls of Ketama,
offering cheap oblivion
and heightened memories
and dreams,
all of them false.
There had to be a plus-side,
though not a good one.
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