Papa Kitty waits for God in his bar
as if to him the burning bush would speak
perhaps he feels as if he were special
as if a hundred dollars would go far
Killing time with fútbol on the TV
if penalty kicks matter to the weak
transparent losers as they arm wrestle
their way to the championship, P. K.
yells himself hoarse with polyps doctors see
while his pipe dream came true, he never left
attendance of the bar to anyone
if God could intervene, perhaps a theft
tragic as that sounds, he wants to have fun
see the world with travel to Han Cathay
forgive to forget, he wants to move on
ordeals and struggles makes him desire more
rolling on the floor laughing like a dog
God couldn't be bothered to care less, son
on the move with a whirlwind tour, to sell
dishes in Han Cathay, as if to score
instinctively, a deal for some peat bog
needles under his fingernails, torture
how Papa Kitty accepts how he fell
if grace matters to religious players
sellouts for commercial advertisements
bailed out of jail by his thoughtful lawyers
as if he were a kid, their chastisements
result in zero punishments, for sure
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