Feces

Feces

You could be in Laredo, Topeka or Rome.
You could melt in Kolkata or freeze, up in Nome.
You could ride on the subway in Paris or Moscow,
You could sway on the buses in windy Toronto.
In all of these places, if you listen, you'll find
There are those who are foolish and also unkind.

It's the same in New York, in Riyadh or Tehran.
When it's time for the pooping, the s**t hits the fan!

As those feces then spatter, it's like rain from the skies,
Yet the ones who are s**tty persist with their lies.
So don't think it is better out there or it's worse
Where you're living—or dream that it's just the reverse.
There are things that are better, there are others not so.
There is s**t that is stinking, wherever you go.

2016 March 7th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York