Friday, August 22, 2014

5820. SMATTERINGS

SMATTERINGS
Now the tribe is the yellow horde delivering
newspapers to I don't know where. All these kids,
with their 'news to nowhere' ethos. My hard-boiled
stance is that of a knife-edged reporter with a stiletto
in hand. You want my sources? I'll kill you first.
-
The banana-boat family has left. The ex-patriot
Cubans  -  after filching a few items from the medicine
chest, they too are gone and but a memory. I never did
find out what they wanted. Down Argentine way, the
nice dancer with the fruitbowl hat, I had my way
with her two times. She loved it each, screaming
like a nutcase as she came upon the couch. I was
frivolous, yes, but fully satisfied.
-
Madonna said she wanted to play Evita.
That was back when she was here. I let her.
Now, there are five surly dudes sitting around
an outdoor espresso bar table, just drooling
over pictures of something. A horse-carriage
goes by, slowly, clop, clop. In the carriage, a
beautiful woman, sensing the men's delight, lifts
her shirt to show them her New Orleans tits.

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