The meeting of Speck and Spoke 

     Amusia peddled her bike to music under balconies of racing vines.

She and two hundred other people would sweat their way to the homeless feeding.

As she stood there mid-line vinettes of conversation abound.

She observed the coveted moment of two strangers falling in love.

 

Speck was just as small as her name implies and Spoke was thin and lanky as well.

When Amusia got in line behind them they’d just started talking about hell.

“In hell it would be fasionable to listen to music at decibel levels harmful to the ear.”

“Throttles would stick on motorcycles and air raid siren car alarms is all that you’d hear.”

“In hell other means are available yet most use toxic chemicals to “freshen the air.”

“Trucks wearing billboards pitch you G.P.S. systems to help you avoid the traffic that is them!”

“People all over hell are hungry yet lawns are grown instead of fruit and nut bearing trees.”

“Playful hearts like John Lennon are shot whilst Ashcroft and Rumsfield rise to the challenge of

feasting like fleas.” “There is no peace.” Speck wiped the sweat from her forehead with

her sleeve and to take their mind’s off the heat Spoke started up a playing a new game.

Again, Amusia wouldn’t play. She just listened to the lovebirds exchange.

 

“If it were Bush who’d done it, it would have occurred at high noon.”

Spoke returned “Rove’s heart don’t permit him to move.”

“Pffff, Well Ashcrot wanter to watch too bad and he can’t chew gum and walk.”

“Well Rumsfield’s so damn viscious he’d a blown up another ten blocks!”

The Speck said “The dutchess I’m sure she were there.”

“Busy scoffing at bill running his finger’s throught Condi’s hair!”

“The Bin Laden’s had other critical pieces to put into place.”

“Cheyne won’t do nothing for himself unless he’s shooting a man in the face!”

“Well then, who had the honor of pushing the button to flood the banks with all of that money?”

“The truth of the matter, no one can say but, a good bet would be Julianni.”

“Wait are we talking ’bout the Tower’s or the Levee?”

 

Even the breeze was warm, and the follks can’t eat ’till the preacher performs

And the refugees from America’s war on the poor had already stood in line an hour or more.

“Now what’s he going to go and do that for.” A man that was cutting in cue up ahead,

was suddenly stabbed in the neck from the back. No one would say who’d made the attack.

The crowd it fled as if each were guilty, even though their bellies were still empty.

The cops they might wanna charge somebody.

The poor preacher didn’t save no body.