A poem by Ben Dunk 1979

 

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?”

 

Late,  for a meeting,

          I briskly rush o’er pavementation.

 

Then, suddenly see,

          a person at greeting location.

 

Who,  leers and veers,

           e’er towards my changing direction.

 

They,  want to know,

           their which way my realization.

 

No,  they’re going,

        to greet my non-recognition.

 

Then, confronted,

           both excuse our affrontation.

 

And, they whisper,

         your Zip is not in position!