It sits there perched, up high atop the rocks.
The ocean beats the mossy rocks below.
Stone Bar’s the name, and yes, they do sell pot.
With complimentary Cokes, and papers to roll.
The Rasta man that serves us, well, he’s Thai.
Dreadlocked hair and a name that sounds like ‘Yut.’
He sits down and proceeds to get us high,
One spliff, another, another, and now I’m mute.
He speaks of politics, Jews, and Thai massage.
He loves Obama, and ‘Hillary Rodham Clinton.’
He says her whole name, just like that, no pause.
And then he speaks of Shakespeare, how he loves him.
Perhaps that’s why I’m writing down this sonnet…
Thanks to Yut, and ganga smoke, I’m on it.
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