Near the Crem
Near the Crem
Was that God I saw driving by
The queuing crawl
Straight up the central reservation
Where white lines said
“Island” to all but Him?

It was Him
The White Van Man.
I got a good look
As we all played patience,
In line, trying not to fidget;
He passed us by
Flipping the bird, His middle digit
At the hearse He overtook.
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Fabric 03/04
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