my darlin’ dear…

“mama’s bag”

everybody freeze.
she’s got a blade;
now she’s using it.

last night we played together,
i got a black eye
and she wouldn’t let me hold
the tray.
it wasn’t worth arguing;
neither one of us was breathing
so well, it was hard to talk,
let alone yell.
we must have been
doing something right.
she’s slurring her words
and i’m slurring mine.
don’t make me do it alone.
i have a lot more fun
when you go first.
so what? there’s just enough
to go around. you’ll see.
you’ll see.

i liked your tatoos.
(i always dig tattooed women
with a lot of piercings.
must be me.)
who the fuck knows
what you liked about me.
(does it matter?
should i care?)
but just cause you turn me on
don’t mean you can just
turn me on.

maybe i thought we were
in this together,
even if i had my doubts.
i been ditched before.
it’s ok except finding
a new friend can be
a daunting task.

i mean, we share
so well,
and you’re pretty,
and i’m here,
even with one black eye
that was nobody’s fault.

the night ends with your head
on my hip, eyes glazed over
and witless, laying on the bed.
i don’t want to move
or breathe or turn over
to scratch my ass.
can we hold out this way
a while longer?

a morning later,
alone on the couch
with a cold press
on my left eye.
she’s gone,
shit’s gone,
but don’t worry.

i got another number
of another tatooed girl
who says she likes my poetry.

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