his dope, his weed,
his ganja,
his pipes and papers,
his brownies
and jello.
hashish.
he had a tattoo of
a marijuana leaf
on his chest.
he was
blissfully happy
and sleepy all the time,
hungry too.
but a little on
edge
when the po po
rolled down the street,
or when someone
knocked on the door.
he was going to be
somebody,
he was going to be
rich,
successful,
with all the trimmings,
but he chose the couch,
the weed,
the music,
the long afternoons
and nights
with a smile on hs
face, instead.
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