Your politeness
is a starched collar.
I itch
and fiddle with my cufflinks.
And that’s how I lost my friend Ron…. he was sitting on the couch.
— The Ron, Himself.
You know, the great white debate is mayonnaise versus Miracle Whip.
— Mamma Sue… in explaining to Sister Steph about why Google won’t display Spanish search results.
you came on strong recommendation
a shared misery or two
that should have
made for a solid bond
and left
like a gypsy after the con
like your father yours now
another man’s child to raise
and anger hot
and red growing inside me
and stole the black boots I wore
your disinterest painful
and his little eyes stare up at me
more of me but part a stranger
he is better off with us
without you and your father’s legacy
we’ll weed out the gypsy blood
and seed loyalty in its place
but I hurt for him
to think
that like a fugitive
you ran from him
so small and tender
and stole from him his heritage
just let me drive
gimme that empty stretch
of charcoal grey and midnight black
with only a few demon eyed
sentries
to slow me down
we’ll run that beater van dry
and push till there’s no fight left
in us
you and me, old scratch
we’ll get it all worked out
you just let me drive
I always wanted
to be the wilted flower
in the corner-
lashes petting two demure doves
folded over slender thighs.
But, I am the bull
and you are the china-
my loud braying
and pointed sharpness
shattering etiquette.