Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Forced Talk with a Passing Fuck

I don’t know why he does this,

A new one every night,

Maybe my dick is just lazy.

There’s four of us, three guys

And an other one

In a dark, thank Christ for that,

Busy place.

She says her name;

Katy, Kristy, Kasey, Karen, K, K, K, K, K, K,

Something with a K, I think,

Or maybe a strong C.

She’s uninteresting like a fly swatter

And shaped just the same;

Big tits, small ass, prominent stench of an

Innocence long dead,

Noone tried to care for this one.

She’s been around and then

I don’t feel bad for her.

Not a thing she that she says has any pertinence

To our comedy, to our drama; to anything interesting

“Do you like to read?” I ask; the deal-breaker.

“I’m too busy,” I think she said;

I was staring at her cavernous cleavage

And I almost forgave him for it.

He leans back, out of her view,

Stretches his face and holds one thumb up, the other down.

My eyes go white and dead.

Thumbs down, I motion,

but he doesn’t listen.

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