The War Bonnet

On the gravel shoulder,
Route 212 westbound,
a bloated mulie.
Torn at by crows,
not proud enough to kill for themselves.
Spent all they had at the “War Bonnet”.
It was a shot in the dark,
at best,
but the lights would soon go out,
and her knees would give way.
The hardbody would shout
“do it again, Candy!”,
“How much does this cost?”,
“Free, if you jump off that train.”,
“Now, that is a mind fuck!”.
This is all a bit iffy,
get the reride,
the “do over”,
a second chance at an 8 second fiasco.
They’re selling ’em at Walmart,
small camel toed,
tramp stamped,
 little furry “thing a ma jiggies”.
Cheap too.
Can’t beat that on a Saturday night.

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Filed under Outlaw poetry, poetry

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