BORDER PATROL

It's twenty of seven
And still you haven't arrived
I'm trying to keep my hands held steady as I balance salt shakers
And the border patrol's trying to find a foothold against a virus
Keep seeing scenes from last night
Where I can't buy my way into your sight
The jokes went across me above me behind me
I was novelty an audience a tourist economy
And so I spoke a little too loud
And I cleared my throat a lot
And when you lost me for a minute in a crowd
Your disembodied laughter hit me like a gunshot whoo

Now I declare myself out of reach
Eye contact's a contract and you are in breach
And I will beat my mother fucking pride down
And I won't serve your world as a clown

*

And I ain't talking about none of those
Bemused field studies dripping down that anglo-saxon nose
Pooling at your feet
And I will beat whatever may rise down
And I won't serve your world as a clown

So you go on and enjoy your maroons and your browns baby
But I won't serve your world as another one of your clowns