I Think I Left My Nightie on Ninth Street
Angela J. Perry

Ah, the East Village two-step-doozie
All the booze-letting a fourteen block situation could offer
Academia begs me to behave not behoove
But the bus boys and guitar players of the world
Won’t stand still without my ironic idiocy
Endorsed only by my cats and striking brown boys
I have no business questioning business
You all think I’m some crimeless tenderfoot
Handling me like some tissue-like trinket
But I meddle in the heavy metal melee
I roughhouse, I play the cowbell
Mushy me is misconstrued
I have an ironclad heart and deal in the fast shuffle
I’m a smart-aleck
Hankering for a shoeless hopscotch companion
I think I left my nightie on Ninth Street