a Friday night in Horse-shit town
the hour when the sun goes down
I walked among its peacock streets
that gobbled chaff as golden wheat
and feeling like a pint of plain
and knowing every bar had chains
I went into the Horse-shit house
and soon its cats had got their mouse
for jokers poked and made me fool
and there was cool and anti-cool
and all their idle conversation
raised my anxious situation
and so I limped from Horse-shit place
to lands that cared not for embrace
and in its fields I had no name
and time was light upon my brain
and though the sun and people came
and though I heard one call my name
my mind was resting far away
from Horse-shit town that Saturday