the poems of george jones
...generation sucks

stolen grapes gone rotten

i found that tiny, little voice
perched uneasily on a barstool
delicate as fresh milk with
a stick figure body
but not too thin

being harassed
by this linebacker beer drinker
in a t-shirt and a brain muscle
the size of rusty bottlecap.
he gave me shit
but acted as if it were

finally I got out of there
with her phone number
feeling good.
and I saw her enough
to remember her
but she was displeased
with the way she looked
her child
everything I guess
she figured
didn’t like.
I liked all of it.
except for that.
and so it went bad,
the way The Gods
like to do me
but part of it worked,
just not now
not here
not like this.

just like me.

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bongoboy productions
Last updated on
Monday December 25, 2006