Tuesday, June 9, 2009


I was having it good
working part time
walking dogs
to pay the bills
and playing house
with a beautiful
little girl
who cooked wonderful dinners
and gave me backrubs
and kept asking me
“now isn’t this nice?”
I’d squeeze her breasts
and she'd suck on my finger
and I’d tell her,
“darlin’, this is the nicest I’ve ever had it.”
and all the time
I kept thinking that maybe
it was possible
to have a good run for a while
maybe there was no need
to be voluntarily suffering
at every moment
but as soon as I felt
fat on contentment
the writing would slow
and I’d be staring
at an empty screen
with an empty mind
until I’d smile at the memories
of long miserable walks
in the freezing rain
nights out in the cold
or being stranded
out on some desert road
throat as dry as the dust
with my thumb in the air
or of the times
when women
had only driven me
to the depths
of despair and insanity
after those fond memories
I’d think, “rest assured, my man,
there’ll be plenty more
where that came from.”

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