Living to Tell About It

 I felt a gust of rage
equal to robbing a grave
I'm tell you I was living
in a malicious, mean neighborhood
my temperament
just as mean
just as malicious
worse sometimes
money came easy
easy money
and I spent the evidence
in places where even dismal fog
refused to gather
across that wide abyss
where the brutal
copulate in hate
sometimes grande dames
wander among the great unwashed
for wicked adventure
tired of hubby's trying
and failing
to get it up the second time
his ego deflated
besides
they've found out
marriage is an advanced
course in
lying your fucking ass off
the wrinkled old hides give you the look
the look that sez
she wants to saddle you up and ride
baby ride
even though their eyes
their dark, cold and commanding eyes
try to pretend
they're no more than a used-up
street-walking
five-bucks-for-head-in-an-alley
crack whore
even though they ride
back into the country club reservation
in a Mercedes
guys like me
left behind in the rubble of
more money than we've seen for a while
no longer thinking of what
we had to do to get it
better'n robbing banks
maybe
they left us well fucked
they left you well heeled
it'll be gone soon
like I said
spend the evidence
then
like hungry tigers
lay in wait for the old hides
to return
hope she picks you
and soon|
sooner than you ever thought it would
their eyes stopped lingering on you
smiling instead
at the new guy
the fresh-faced new guy
resigned to the fact after it happened
time and time again
you either
pick up a newspaper
wander through the want ads for a job
or pick up the gun
either way
you're incarcerated by bars
or a bosses' time clock

©August 21, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton