Thoughts of an unsuccessful, never married, late middle-aged, likely terminally ill American man.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
In Sympathy (Poem)
I have sorrow for the she or he Who has to work outside, And those who live far from the sea And have a fatty hide. I pity the Amish, the Hasidic Jew, All covered up with clothes. It’s down to ninety, ninety-two, But them’s the nighttime lows.