4/20

three of them sat on the curb,
their heads wobbling slowly, giggling
and burping occasionally as if
they were stoned, which they were.
It’s 4/20 after all.
The roads are blocked with minor
fender benders; the police
are taking forever to get the basic
information from drivers who can’t
remember who they are or where
their license is and they’re happy
to just shoot the breeze with the nice
man in blue at the window.
A blue cloud hangs over town,
the slightly sweet aroma of dope
pervades the air, even cheering up
the middle aged housewives like
me.