Devlin De La Chapa

Posted: January 16, 2017 in Musing, Poetry


‘Cause the way I see it, Babe, you’re fucked!


The head gasket blew ~

“Last Chance Dealership” was a 100 miles back;

I see our trip to Vegas slowly fading fast


’cause your fucking truck

is now a piece

of fucking junk!


but how you look babe

in your rugged-down

crotch-hugging jeans –



you bitch

to spit

black tar saliva

onto a red scorpion

slugging innocently by


‘Shit’ is the word,

I silently ponder

as I contemplate

a 1/2 second nightmare

beneath the extreme exhaust

of blistering desert weather

whether I should let

the buzzards siphon film

from my cunti,

or is it cacti?


The front hood unexpectedly slams down hard

and my mouth grows parched ~

a thirst I could easily quench

from my lover’s sweat

but we’ve run out of whiskey

and instead of surviving on

week old iron kids bread

we feed the buzzards, and

listen unnervingly

to the erotic sound

of masticating death ~


clutching my lover’s arm

for putting me in this mess, I confessed:


Dearest Satan,

I hope you have plenty of slot machines down in Hell

’cause the way I see it, my babe’s fucked!


My lover’s voice suddenly pitched

right before I pushed him into the ditch

of the buzzards den.


Better you than I,

I grinned.


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