I woke up on main street
in a capitol city
on a sidewalk of pearls
awash in self-pity.

My mattress obstructed
pedestrian flow.
A padrone down the way
said I just had to go.

My eyelids were stitched
but as morning seeped through
carrot cake cookery
came into view.

I’d fallen asleep
on the eve of destruction
with nary a hope
of such lovely construction.

It may have been Rome,
perhaps Yokohama.
It wasn’t the Beltway.
There was no Obama.