Poem

B-26
by Ezra Fitz

It’s a number.
It’s a song.
It’s a girl.
Smooth.
Pearl joy packed.
Gold falafel,
As through ice.
It’s four-thirty.
Morning with
Phone calls.
It’s deaf mute.
It’s cheap.
A foreign car.
Maybe bingo.
Lucky night?
Something says
It smells bad.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c16KraHZ7GE&ob=av2el