The Wind

Someone’s knocking on the door —
A pause at three, and then one more
Heavy knock. “I guess…the wind,”
Says my brother, “It’s a hint,
Time to quit this, hide the stuff,
We have really had enough!”
Then my brother grabs the back
Of his aching, shaking neck,
“One of our greatest hits…”
I’m still silent. He repeats,
“Hide the stuff! I’ve got it all!
We live in the blackest hole!
And the wind is down to smash
Our door!” Moroccan hash
We would pretty often smoke
Right at midnight to provoke
All the demons of Bombay,
New York City and L.A.
Here’s the thing I want to say —
If you’re looking for dismay,
Hit the lights to recreate
Atmosphere of the late
1860’s of the West
When your one and only guest
Is the wind banging your door —
A pause at three, and then one more
Heavy bang. My brother swoons:
Don’t you puff while taking shrooms.

ZhDjso0JJqQ

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