Fuck You, City Street

I am so fucking incensed
at the street
for taking that hundred dollars
that I know I had
while I was on 97th street
but seemed to have been relieved of
by the time I got into the drug store
to buy the drugs
I had gotten the hundred dollars out of the bank for.

What the fuck
was the street thinking?
Say I dropped it.
It’s not impossible.
I was making sure I had the money
so it’s certainly conceivable
that I failed to put it back in my pocket
and it got dropped on the street.
Why, then,
was the street not kind enough
to hold unto that cash
until I got back?
Is that really so much to ask, 97th Street?
I mean, really?!

Whatever, street.
I’m not looking out for your anymore.
Next time I see someone pissing on you
or throwing up
or dropping some trash on an area where it won’t get picked up, I’m just leaving that shit alone.

Eat a dick,
Upper West Side.
All of you.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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