Issue
#3

May
2009 

a poem by Dan Provost

A Former Bedroom Thang

Can't be your bedroom thang for
an eight dollar blow job that will
give you a five dollar fix of nails and
needles--and maybe even enough
left over for a meatless taco at Pancho's.

Money's tight; even the scammers and the
low-rent cocksuckers are throwing in the
bloody red towel, crying, "we’re hurting, too."

Life never goes well for those close to
the real ringside...scabby hair blowing off
Sickle Cell harlots, dying in the junkyard, avoiding
others who pass by with lily-white smiles

Slinking "everything's great" smiles while
driving through the main street intersection annoyance.

Nah...I can't be your bedroom thang any more.
I'm too poor
to attend the chapped people party any more.
My pockets are empty
and my emotions are full of appreciated nothings.

The seizures start at noon every day now...

© Dan Provost

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