He batted his wings at me.
Glared and smirked,
Propped himself up like a dismal clerk
Payed attention in silence and ignored any dialogue
scruffed up and predisappointed
he believed Faith was a disease
He believed rewards would fall without commitment
He was a midlife crisis laughing on his knees
And as I appealed to him invain
he called me an angry man
Yet not a wince more of frustration do I carry
His ears ever waxed his eyes ever full of sand
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