Paradiso
I dream of a perfect world
where chickens cross the road
without their motives questioned
where running late counts as exercise
where the Devil says Oh shit
when he sees me wake every morning
where calories are invisible creatures
that live in my closet and sew
my clothes tighter each night
where my karma is so in love that tears
run down my legs and drown
the bed bugs biting my ankles
where real heroes don’t swoosh
and swing in jet-black capes;
real heroes wear dog tags.
Author: John Davis
Photo: Ashish R. Mishra on Unsplash
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