London, MFS

I ride shotgun en route to my cousin’s wedding
with his younger brother, both of our suits worn just this once
the S-class is fresh out the shop
the interior lights match the tie and the clock says the car is younger than me
this city’s skyline flies by us
it has always looked beautiful with a red moon overhead
as ever, London has me feeling like a country boy
you’re beautiful I tell her, only miming the words through the window
the sounds are too loud, the music is smooth but the voices too uncouth
shout out to my fuckin favourite stripper
before the week is done I’ll go through her myself in a dirty BMW

Abdul J

My poems dont usually come out like that but it is what it is I guess. Sort of a perverse love-letter to London, my vacay spot and home away from home.