I Like the Air - Robert Francis

Filed down coffins in the neighborhood.

A Spanish girl walking by the cemetery

wood

Five in the pan, we do what we can though it ain’t right

A fat man sitting on the side of his remote, his daughter’s in the kitchen

trying to clean his coat

I bet she can’t

The rattle of a bottle on a warped wooden desk, shaking back and forth beside

my bated breath

A blind girl laughing while I stare at her chest, I’m in the zone

I won’t survive if I make it out alive

Seven/ten split, I don’t got…

Down on Main Street, I got friends waiting there

I don’t need no drop off girls

I like the air

Elysian Park through the dark about a mile

A little white girl with a Bobby King smile

Blue little bags she says she knows I’m feeling bad I’m worth your while

But here 'tween the palette feelings I don’t understand, cardboard cutouts,

just be a man

Have fun walking home in Mike Davis land

Pull the wool over my eyes

I don’t want to understand

I like the trees, the army and the colors that they wear, they like to scare

A few blocks home from remembering my name, a few blocks home

Down on Main Street, I got friends waiting there

I don’t need no drop off girls, I like the air