Love is a Payday Loan

Love is a Payday Loan.

You leave the counter

Feeling pretty good.

That money feels like

It’s yours. It’s in your

Pocket, after all. It

Feels good, not like

The Smile of first love,

But still pretty good,

Not as good as

the warm paw

Of a beloved pet

On your face stained

With tears after first

Love leaves. You loved

The girl and the pet too.

But when they’re gone

You pay with pain

For those loans of love.

And as for me I’ve paid

And paid for every joy

A woman has ever loaned

Me. I’ve paid with interest

Too, but as for all of my pets

Who’ve crossed the bridge,

Knowing them was worth

All the pain. And I’d pay

It again for each one

Of them.

— FB, author of Mail-Order Annie (a Story of Passion and Compassion)

 

 

 

Are You the Same Person Who Came in Through the Door?

I tried to concentrate

on the words of the

Buddhist giving his

dharma talk. But the

dog outside kept

barking, and the fat

cat named Karma kept

purring on my lap. I

liked the purring, and

though I like dogs too,

the constant barking

was really too much.

But at the time I scolded

myself for being bothered

it and surmised that I just

wasn’t enlightened enough.

So I peeled my eyes from

the fantastic ass of the

nubile young woman sitting

lotus style in front of me,

and put them back onto the

Buddhist giving the dharma

talk. “You’re Not the Same

Person who Came in Through

the Door Only Moments ago,”

he said before explicating

that we are not really

separate, discreet entities,

and that the only thing that’s

constant is change, etc. I’m

sure you’ve heard it all before,

in one form or another, “Each

man is your brother, ” et al.

Well, in a purely scientific

sense, I may not be exactly

the same man now as the one

who’d walked into that

Buddhist temple so many

years ago, but I still can’t stand

dog owners who tie their dogs

up on short leashes for extended

periods of time, to the point

where they bark incessantly

for help. And something in

the wisdom of the blood still

knows that a young woman’s ass

is worth more than any

philosophical stuff. And yeah,

the dog belonged to the jerk who

gave the dharma talk.

 

— Fyodor Bukowski, author of Mail-Order Annie