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Laying Low Among the Cannons

by Thomas K. Hunt

I took my first toke back in seventy-two
Two joints between us and a six pack of blue
Me in the middle between Dondi and Gonz
Laying low among the cannons at the foot of John
I've been smoking weed since I was fifteen
I'm much older and wiser now
I wouldn't changed a thing

I just smoke my weed
I'm no harm to you
It's not something I need
It's just something I do

I smoke my little stash that I purchased with cash
I enjoy it every Saturday night
The shit these days blows my days away
I sit back and enjoy the flight

Every other night except for Saturday night
I'm on the straight and narrow and I see the light
The weekend comes and it's time to relax
I smoke a little weed and that's a natural fact

These days I feel more of the pain
like an aching body in the pouring rain
The struggle is real but it's mine to bear
A little pot takes me away from there

So here I am it's another Saturday night
I just strapped in for another flight
Clear my mind and let the stress fade away
Smoking my buds at the end of the day

Bette gave me a visit once and smoked my bong
The next day she smiled and found nothing wrong
She never smoked again but that wasn't the end
She got into the brownies with all of my friends

I took my first toke back in seventy-two
Two joints between us and a six pack of blue
Me in the middle between Dondi and Gonz
Laying low among the cannons at the foot of John

04/21/2019

Author's Note: Lyric

Posted on 04/21/2019
Copyright © 2019 Thomas K. Hunt

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 04/21/19 at 02:57 PM

Good poem Thomas. Brings back some good memories of my own; I started smoking at 17 in 1975. As per drinking blue, did you live in Canada at the time?i.e. Labatt's Blue. Happy belated 4/20 BTW. :)

Posted by Glenn Currier on 04/27/19 at 04:39 PM

Thomas, I really enjoyed the trip. I smiled throughout, wishing with envy that my body did not so adversely react to the weed. The few moments of glory listening to Streisand back in the seventies will forever be etched in my mind which tries to forget the horror of the wretch I experienced after a few minutes in the embrace of that good $#%@ provided by my cousin in San Francisco. I sometimes wonder what the marvelous substance could do for my poetry. Thanks so much.

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