Proportionately

Anyway, I’m looking across the room from under my ten dollar straw hat and I see the source of the odor: a potato chip bag with a hole through the bottom. I grab my hat and hoot at the waiter to get that sorry ass bag out of my sight, and he obliges immediately. It’s not typical of me to shake a man’s hand after such a menial task, but I really think he did a bang up job on that litter.

Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children. View all posts by Aidan Badinger