The Web Poetry Corner
The Web Poetry Corner
Chicago, IL, US
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my little grey bunny (cat) likes
the orange bathroom rug
the jungle atop the cupboards
in that particular order.
my pretty kiki (bunny) knows nothing about society
but she did abort four itty-bitty kitty fetuses.
she doesn't know she's pro-choice because no one protested.
my bunny-wunny (kiki) knows nothing about addiction
but she does like to watch danny blow smoke rings.
nic oh! tine.
(lucky for her, new year's resolutions rarely work.)
my cat (lola) doesn't know she lives in the ghetto
but she is scared of the rabid dog next door
and she does have fleas.
my lola (the bunny) has never been in a wide open field
with wildflowers and hundred year old trees.
(i found her in the warehouse district eating garbage.)
but that doesn't matter.
she's happy just to look out the kitchen window to the gangway.
(she doesn't even know those things exist.)
a woman stalking her boyfriend rolled up on me
at the bus stop the other day:
"bitch, don't be [allegedly] talkin' to my man!"
my sweet lola didn't know anything about that
because she was safe at home
planted on her favorite rug
staring at the shower door.
My head hurts =
too many margaritas + too much stress.
Stress. Why stress?
I build it for myself.
Mother invites me to church.
I don't have Faith; I don't go.
Mother prays for me.
Daddy never held Mother's hand;
I never knew he should.
But Mother and I used to read the Sunday paper on her (couch) bed
before we drove to church.
(I read the funnies, she did the crossword.)
When I learned about the dinosaurs in third grade,
I asked Mother why the Bible said God created the animals
just a day or two before He created Adam and Eve.
(The fossil records contradicted that.)
Mother said maybe the days were a lot longer back then.
The scary thing is I think she actually believes that.
I don't believe, I don't believe.
Daddy snored and read the sports section in his (queen size) bed.
Mother prays for Daddy.
Mother has a Mother too =
too many many beers + too too much manipulation.
Mother walked alone to church when she was a girl.
She has a lot of Faith.
Faith. Why Faith?
She builds it for herself.
Mother prays for her Mother.
I'm living in sin, Gin.
I'm going to Hell, Dewey Dell:
"I don't believe in God, God. God, I don't believe in God."
Mother still prays for me anyway.