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The Phony
I know how you will meet your end.
 There shall be playing cards involved
 and many tables.
 That hill, your favorite, shall be leveled
 for a new highway
 which I will proudly drive over
 every day
 as I go to my work
 at the puppy mill.
 You certainly are
 a mess,
 and will spend your evenings
 surrounded by
 alcohol and loud voices.
 I have never lied before, sir.
 I am always correct.
 You will stumble from
 the bar one night,
 the replacement of your favorite
 natural haunt
 and you will trip
 fall unconscious in a puddle and
 drown with your face
 in muddy water.
 And no one 
 will care.

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