They are short shorts
shorts and short
slide in the dark orange commingle
sadness clanking fork drop mediocre
pen in her mouth creasing up
hot crossed teeth
name tag escape route
somewhere near her armpit
“And what you want?”
Hip bouncing into the floor
eyes out on the street
here to fill out your cunt silly forms
folded creased entry
mine fingered in hands
very, very silly cement floor bank account
gonna run around stank of fake charm
if you pay me enough to eat
“Sit over there”
Sticky ass molten booth seat
Molson Canadian triangle centre statue
bald doughy, but he’s got a nice smile
“Here ya are, fill these out”
Pages and pages could drown
a little ambition killing cross
melted gold plated Jesus popped
in my brain that moment,
fuck that, I’m not gonna pray
No number machines permitted
there’s not a place to see reflection
but I know my long hollow brain face
creeping through stupid pink tongue
wag the tail percentage tip
counting on toes
“I’ve not gotten so far with this education of mine”
Say for everyone, no one: maybe just for me
coming in question time, gynecological exam
for that well-rounded passion soul
one to ten, ten for best, one for worst
vindictive boxes only to be —
ONLY TO BE COLOURED IN
Xs, check marks, dots,
you’ll be tossed on the street
hooligan you are
How happy are you with your life?
Cherry top whip cream fuckery
midst the probes for professionalism
with a standard rate of efficiency
The goddamn question had me stumped.
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