Couldn’t

Had a poem in mind–

Real life with a theme,

But I just couldn’t

Type it up for you

Tonight. I’ve had too

Many at this titty bar

Tonight to type it up

For you right. I feel that

Soft music inside me,

As I drink these pale

Ales and do dance after

Dance with a baby-faced

little black dancer who

Sees me as a creepy-assed

Cracker even though I

Drive 20 miles to feed

Stray cats. You’d think

That if God was good

He’d make old guys

Love old girls, but it’s

Not like that. I’m spending

Har-earned cracka cash

On a five foot Bratz doll

Black girl who’s Betty Boop

Lashes and plushy ass make

Me feel alright for now even

Though my readers never

Buy my novel and I’m

Doomed to hell with no

Deliverance in sight.