poetry
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Got shit to do

chatroom

Drunk. Saturday night.
Haven’t left the house.
Going out means top 40 jukebox,

What do you do? and
Strangers are not on my list
Of favorite things–not in Arlington.

Home means five shots whiskey,
Two shots rum, orange juice and
Grenadine in ice-cream alone.

Last night was Fort Worth. Drunk.
Chat Room. Cried 45 minutes inside bathroom.
Guys said That was the longest bathroom break

I’ve ever seen! Eyes of women met. Ele
Had met these tears before. Beside sink Holly said
cervical cancer. Wiped my tears with paper towel. Let me

Lean on her like we were old friends. She didn’t cry for babies
Body will not make. Her stronger than me. She left and
In came some Amazon in black shirt, blue jeans, brown eyes

I would not have recognized for what they were in swarm of bar.
Wiped my eyes with no hesitation. Touched my face with bare hands
Like we were blood. Another woman with parts cut out because

Cells ate each other. Genetic duds. Mud
That will not serve the roof of any shack that built it.
Huts that will not keep out the cold. They told me

Everything will be alright! Put Bob Marley song
In wrong place. Assumed we had same problem but
I don’t even know if I’m broken–

Haven’t even tried–
Not allowed to find out–
There is too much stuff that needs doing

For love to survive.

This entry was posted in: poetry

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