Tuesday, August 16, 2016


A plain black backer with
process blue, a found 20 dollar
bill, with Bob and deadlines no
more mistakes! He's got money,
so need for the twenty. Which he
leaves in the garbage, behind.
It doesn't look right anyway, too
white. Like fake paper, a real
counterfeit bill. 'Leave for the
Rebels, or the Commies.' That's
what he said, that man of the
world. Got drunk and just
walked away.
That was the kind of life I was
living, and I liked it that way.
A few mysterious girls, now and
then, to sing my song of sixpence
and have my pocketful of wry
...humor that is. Not rye. Whisky
that is. Is that a frog in your pocket,
or you just happy to see me? 
I jumped her ass so quick it was
over yesterday. Have you ever tried
looking that up? That 'frog in your
pocket' thing  - it's referenced so many
different ways. Banana in your pocket?
Boiled Frog in your pocket? I even
have seen screwdriver in your pocket,
though that sort of makes sense.
She agreed. And we went our 
separate ways, though I wished she 
was still living in the attic in that 
house next door, so many things 
to look forward...for.

No comments: