with coat hanger fantasies,
more disappointing
than rubber bristles on a toothbrush.
(French people don't get my humor.)
(French people don't get my humor.)
A heavy bottle with a red label
is all she needs to get by.
Bud told me so.
Light would never fly with her,
which is why I can't speak of her lightly.
She's tolerable standing aside,
only when used to block the wind
in hard winter.
Her life
is no longer full of water fountains,
to make-up-kiss her way back
to Great Expectations.
So guess
what happened the night before?
Then keep guessing.
Therein lies the fun, and my point
of interest.
Getting mud-drunk
is her way of life now,
where it takes her two showers
just to feel honest again.
And honestly
I'm just laughing on the inside,
but I still choose to pay attention
because gutter minds are colorful.
