Cry, Baby, Cry

Time once upon, ‘twas I
tabernacle in friend dining room
vagrancy wicked way
homeless, nomadic, cash-strapped
at co-op marking cans, ringing register
per hour few dollar
pocket-fill, but no bank
get food, get drink
roof over head
rice and beans and tabbouleh
high living in limited style
poor, yeah true, but soul rich
just missing one thing
company desires
zip up, private, ensconced in canvas
get fox back
explain lifestyle later
on bartime crawl go
alcohol and women
draw one in
heart-stopper Soviet broad
talk hungry
chewing Russkie ears
swallowing heat
going where good
friendly touch she give
she lean her face near
success think I
then into flow lurch friend
jack-eyed, drunk-stink
see her, see me, see kiss, he say
“Hey! You want to fuck my friend in his tent?”
Situation critical
I truth-speak
give it straight
“I live in a tent I have set up in his dining room.
It’s nice. There’s padding,” say I
she has eyes white-popping
quick think and add
“But we don’t have to go.
I could get your number?
Call you.
Go for a cup of coffee tomorrow?”
she say, “Oh, baby,” up she get
signal her girlies
out door in pack they go
I shake head at friend
say, “So much for that,”
thirsty bambino get whisky
sorrow to drown
no titty baby for to suck
Wah! Wah!

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One Response to “Cry, Baby, Cry”

  1. thenarcissistwrites Says:

    Haha, that was pretty funny.

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