Devlin De La Chapa

Posted: January 13, 2017 in Musing, Poetry
Tags:

 

nothing … not a thing … a thing of not

 

love for you is not for sale

or nothing for sale …

I have things to grasp

dishes to wash

wars to fight, domestic~home front~in flight;

I burnt the steaks again,

again, you say

you want to be “just friends“

with benefits but with no insurance policies

attached; if your head gets decapitated between my legs

then your wife gets nothing …

you`re such a shame, a sham

everything for you is no thank you, wham bam and nothing

`cause I`m a sucker for not a thing;

and I could go on all day

quote words that you`ve said, unsaid

so dreaded~ly about how I`m

a poetess for all your petty crimes, for all your bad times,

a curse for drive~by verses and hearses following nothing;

I wear flowers in my hair that you like to water

with your tears laced in fear of nothing or a thing of not;

don`t look at me, don`t talk to me, don`t stop

and gawk at me ~

just walk on by, walk on out

pretend I`m your mother … can you see yourself

kissing your mother?    full on the mouth,

hands on her breasts? … it`s a detest, I know

so don`t go there and you will be alright …

today is Saturday

tomorrow will be Sunday

then every day after

will be every day of the week

I don’t know where you`re coming from

or where you`re going to?

All I have is what all I have left … nothing

except for the fire extinguisher

you bought for the troubles at your hands

taking up pantry space, and I`ll be goddamned,

we`ve ran out of fucking steak sauce!

 

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