deepundergroundpoetry.com

It's All In The Planning

I grew tired of the neon lights and country music, in the small hick town where I would dance.
For small hick town men
who had fat hick town wives.
I grew tired; tired of the sweaty dollars they would jam in my top.
Brushing their calloused hands against my breast,
I would meet their eyes; they were such scared pathetic men, like deer caught in headlights.

Sometimes I would get tired from counting, I made more than enough.
I never lost a day’s sleep
Nor cared about right and wrong.

He owned that bar for years, and everyone said when I left
the place went downhill.
A new girl would come, I figured.
But he waited; the other girls said he was hopelessly in love,
and they talked quietly of how he waited.

I waited and I hated,
with my can of gasoline and a lock.
I drove my car round back and smoked
And watched the smoke dance around my index finger, how it curled, turning a yellowish then grey then white.
I popped my trunk and heard the click
I closed it then did it again. The click, the click.

The gas can was heavy spilling on my shirt, wondering how many were inside.
I poured the gasoline out, spelling my name in script
I made such a beautiful C.  My Y was perfect.
My lock made the perfect click.
I made a ring of fire, just for my special friends
who tortured me all day with his music.

I wasn’t in the mood for watching the flames.
So I went home and listened to the fire trucks and watched the news,
And dreamed of better days to come.
With Nevada in the distance.


 



Written by sunnysayz2002
Published
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