A huge, yellow tinted bird
has fluttered into the window.
Now he is resting a bit
on the concrete because,
I think, he is dead.
A man in a tuxedo just passed.
He is not rich; he is a waiter!
In scratched, tasseled shoes
he eludes the bird.
Why shouldn't he -
- for two days ago
eleven hundred people
watched slyly, in
humiliation, eyes
arched over, necks craned
over, pored-over newspapers
as three be-hula'd
hot numbers dressed
as future-cartoons
whipped around space,
their orbs.
Not speaking,
their suntans looked painful in
the silent rays of
Z-axis;
these wowzers fluttered on it
and brang us.
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