Colt 45

 
you fingered my wounds with your darkness
leaving your colt 45 psychology on my nightstand

you said goodbye for the last time
bitter tears of rage fell down my face
I moonshined your cock in hopes of keeping you
you laughed and spit in my face on the way out the door

a whore wearing midnights
you had no alibi for bitch number 202
your blue-collar philosophy said why bother?

a little mouthwash would cleanse you of your sins

I knew what manner of beast you were
Betty Crocker dreams would see me through
same as my mother before me
daddy always was a rolling stone

after all, I handpicked you
chucked the nice guys who came my way
it was your swagger that got me

you sidled up to me with big talk
I bought it all
the house on the lake
the kids playing outside with rover
dinner every Friday with the Joneses

who was I kidding?
we weren't meant for that
we were Friday night brawls
Monday's bruises

fuck's on the side to feed my ego
after you break it down to nothing

our crass love
just bad poetry
and I love it