deepundergroundpoetry.com
Not the Car Type of Key
Hot.
Today was just so blasted hot.
Sitting in a black truck, doing that 'He'll be right back' waiting game;
Having the 'I just gotta sing bad songs til the car starts again' look on my soul.
When I crack open a sweaty Arizona can
It echos moments later on my right,
And there's a beer drinking, hairy chested, white sedan having man with a toothy grin
And deviously handsome face.
He raises his can, nods, and flicks his sunglasses off.
I just want some cash.
"Hey, baby. You look hot."
I choke back a shot glass amount of bile
Because I don't need to be doing this.
I sweet talk, coyly- I don't know if I'm a bad girl or not. Maybe just a hurt girl who's making up for lost time.
I extend my hand out the window and say "Pleased to make your acquaintance,"
But I don't use my name.
I'd have to change it.
Today was just so blasted hot.
Sitting in a black truck, doing that 'He'll be right back' waiting game;
Having the 'I just gotta sing bad songs til the car starts again' look on my soul.
When I crack open a sweaty Arizona can
It echos moments later on my right,
And there's a beer drinking, hairy chested, white sedan having man with a toothy grin
And deviously handsome face.
He raises his can, nods, and flicks his sunglasses off.
I just want some cash.
"Hey, baby. You look hot."
I choke back a shot glass amount of bile
Because I don't need to be doing this.
I sweet talk, coyly- I don't know if I'm a bad girl or not. Maybe just a hurt girl who's making up for lost time.
I extend my hand out the window and say "Pleased to make your acquaintance,"
But I don't use my name.
I'd have to change it.
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