John-Ward Leighton


Photo ©Copyright 2007 by John-Ward Leighton
Photo ©Copyright 2007 by John-Ward Leighton
It’s said by persons far away
that my home town is
the best place in the world.
I don’t know what the criteria were
but this is what has been told.
I thought to discuss this
with a poor soul sitting outside
but he was having a conversation
with someone not in the picture yet
actually talking out loud to no one.
How lonely can it get?
The very fat lady waddled by in high heeled shoe
looking regal as if that was her due.
The summer looks good through
the fly specked glass
and a sweet young thing
saunters in with her
trousers barely covering her ass
pulled so low and tight
you just might see her pubic hair
if there was any there.
My home town is the best place in the world.
Suits, snoots, and religious absolutes
display their attitudes
and run it up the flag pole
to see who will salute.
The motorcycle cop
in the middle of the intersection
rousting the windshield guy
and the kid retreats to the side of the road
“Fuck off and die!”
My home town is the best place in the world,
blares the trumpeting headline.
But like the man who blew his own horn
it has an Achilles heel,
and don’t believe everything you are told
this compliment is fat and over ripe
it won’t take long to become very, very old.
The shattered junkie begs to use the loo
but is sent back into the street her needs unmet
and that’s just about as mean as mean can get.
My hometown is the best place in the world.
Automobiles crowd the streets
and in the sound of their mufflers blast
are toxic wastes recycled from the past.
Sweet young things
all tits and ass go bouncing by
and I think without fail
if my thoughts were action
I’d be in jail.
But why do I still piss and moan
and burden you with rhymes
that make you groan?
Strike up the band
and have the flags unfurled
cause haven’t you heard.
My hometown is
the best place in the world.