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.
