Full moon over the Greenwich Hills. The mansions’ windows shine with TV blue I arrive at the estate’s small house with a pint of vodka $8 and a bottle of lemonade. I check the fires. Tonight the moon is Full and silver. I stand on the long lawn and drop my trousers No one is at the mansion I squat low I don’t need to grunt Shitting on a rich man’s lawn comes so easy A dog barks from the kennel His friends bark too They smell my shit It’s real shit They bark like mad I stand I pull up my jeans I haven’t changed clothes in three days To me I don’t smell dirty The dogs howl at me and I howl at the moon I walk back to the small house Next summer this grass will be tall From my drop But tomorrow the shit will freeze with the morning And the hills of Greenwich will be quieter, Because The dogs will not bark at cold shit.