The moon rises and we come out
like cockroaches on hot summer nights
to infest the romantic streets of Beirut that you love so much.
The smell of afternoon coffee lingers.
You smell it, our caffeinated fuckness,
when you pass by us.
We are breathing caffeine.
You’ll find us gathered in small groups
laughing like hyenas at you and your kind
on the sidewalks.
One day, we’ll eat your mothers
with love and kindness.
One day, we’ll piss in your mouths.
We are very angry.
What’s yours is not ours.
What’s ours are your leftovers.
This is our lottery of birth.
We are not asking for anything.
Don’t let us be.
We will be,
we will be forever.
One day, we –
But not today,
because tonight we’ll drink…
We are the scumbags of the third world,
the people of the sidewalks.