Drainage Ditch

Sometimes, I write about

the softness

of five dollars

being rubbed apart

inside a pocket.

Other times, I write about

the hardness

of water

and the art of world war.

But most of the time

I write poetry

that hisses like air

escaping a balloon.

Nobody ever said

it'd be easy,

but I made the error

of thinking hookers were in favor

of fucking the hottest guy

in the room,

and now I'm stuck

writing poetry

in a drainage ditch,

nom de plume.