Yes, today is the fourth day of July,
and I’m sitting all sweaty and friendly
in my boxers with no money or past
trying to think of wonderful bombast
that I can use to once again fill up
these empty lines on this screen like syrup.
Wouldn’t George Washington be proud to see
a writer for America in me.
Well I don’t know that guy or Santa Clause.
I’m an artist, or so I say because
we have our fantasies in Baltimore,
like my current lust for beer from the store
in which case I’m still a bit short on it,
but I’ll not be down for long from where I sit.