He looked like a tree stump

the third boyfriend with a goatee.

Squabs squawked  

as I kissed a cinder block

crimson iron came flooding in

and I felt as useless as a church bell on a Friday night,

he smelled like two dogs fucking. 

A dart threw at me by Eight Ball

down on Dixon Street; the best player in town

well,     he was decent at least.

Old Man Tom pulled his little grocery cart

he’d seen the mountains once,

but now his son stole money from him.

Richard ran a regular jungle

but woudn’t no cat himself, 

had too many begonias growing

and got caught driving drunk.

The chief bum of the creek camp

had a pillow hard as lead and black as the old bastard’s soul,

but it don’t matter

we threw ‘em a bone anyways.

He spread his wings and learned to fly

but the devil was an angel once too. 

She ain’t never gonna be happy with a man she’s married,

wandering with the orphaned alligators down in Sulphur, Louisiana.

But I’ll pour one out for her like we did for the old boys back home.