gas lamp gone, i stumble, sneeze. the dust in darkness makes me wheeze and fidgets in my fingers flipping files that start with “f” i’ll set alight.
ha’penny gone from a threepenny purse!
no room for rum when taxes come first!
alfreds and davids and t-tles and writs!
yanked from their holes and rendered to bits!
i’ll burn the lord mayor asleep in his bed
if he’s dreaming my name as a number, instead!
i’m well done with fines; i’ll no longer be traced!
my own, and all “f’s” in town hall are erased!
mrs. fisk is now a maiden. mary fenton not deceased. and arthur fuller’s fortune’s bound for probate lest he file a brand new will.
an evening fire, a high-backed chair… i burn away the coiling ink of a magistrate…
sunlight wipes the sleep from cobblestones. i tumble ditchwards, laughing. next time taxes come around, i’ll tip my hat and drink three penn’orth rum.