P*t (incomplete) (Unpub)

           “Some like p*t…nine days old” – bowdlerized 

     from “Pease Porridge Hot” first recorded in John 

     Newbery’s “Mother Goose’s Melody” (ca. 1760)
 
"Few do not delight in p*t," 

new census surveys hold.
Always hot's a hybrid p*t – 

say, Acapulco Gold.
Brash folk choose Afghani Wonder,

digging dope that’s bold.
Cursed are those with budget woes – 

they’ve stopp’d p*t-smoking cold.
 
Dudes agree: “P*t should be free! 

Like welfare money: doled.”
Enfeebled folk claim med concerns; 

in programs they’re enroll’d.
Freethinkers wish p*t legal: 

such a state’s been long foretold.
Good girls smoke Passion #1 – aka Amstel Gold.

He would buy p*t on the fly, 

while me…? I like to hold.
Ice Queen's sold by Ms. Isolde – 

mispronounced ‘Isold.’
Jock (that’s me!) shops Dr. Greenthumb: 

Jock smokes J.J.’s Gold.
Known philosophes smoke Killa Kush. 

That shit will knock you cold.
 
Lotus-Eaters savor strains 

produced in wet leaf mold.
Mom prefers p*t grown (says Ma) 

in peat, a mother’s mold.
Nor no one who’s not no one knows 

how p*t is now extoll’d.
O'erseas as well...? Well...cannabis concerns are oversold.
 
Poor people busted yesterday, 

today should be paroll’d.
“Quicker sprung, the better,” 

comments everyone who’s poll’d.
“Rolling papers, vaping vapors…? 

None of it grows old."
Say friends of friends. “It never ends. 

We're sold, you hear…? We're sold!"
 
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