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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Country Dick and The Little Morsel
Country Dick Montana
is a mountain of a man
i want to climb him
my personal Everest
he's the larger than life frontman
of the Beat Farmers
cowpunk band I adore
but he likes
the little blonde morsel
sitting next to me
she's a yummy little scrap
of trailer park humanity
replete with double negatives
and lower back tramp stamp
visible from the bottom
of her tiny racerback tank top
Every Beat Farmers show
has a quiet time
Country Dick
sits in the middle of the floor
we form a circle around him
"we're in the Arizona desert" he commands
that voice
pornographic baritone
"the night is pitch black
"we're surrounded by shooting stars"
more guided imagery
slightly slurred (he drinks a lot of beer)
everyone's transported
it's communal and beautiful
he launches into Ball of Yarn
a ballad
about venereal disease
that's the Beat Farmers for you
Halfway through the song
Country Dick is feeling amorous
wants some female company
he looks in my direction
and keeps going
not for long
for next to me
is Lolita Bambi Tanqueray
the morsel
in the racerback tank top
like an eagle
Country DIck swoops up
her twistable
bendable
fuck a thousand ways little body
she's on his lap
an astonished purring kitten
he continues to sing
in his manliest man
deeper than deep baritone
six foot two
Wyatt Earp duster
well worn cowboy hat
it would be impossible
to design a man i'd want more
even before the show
i'm alight with anticipation
Country Dick makes me feel
pitch black
intense stirrings
the kind I try to ignore
the kind that just can't
be ignored any longer
the rowdy bar crowd
drinking to a fever pitch
awaits the band
the PA system blares a song
popular at the time:
You.... want it all
but you CAN"T HAVE IT
it's an exquisitely menacing message
amplified to the heavens
so immaculately foreboding
my masochistic heart lurches
it screams Hallelujah!
now the moment is here
Country Dick encircles his conquest
strong arms squeezing her dangerously tight
looking intently into her eyes
what he's thinking is clear
"I love you"
"I want to fuck you"
"I want to fuck you because I love you"
"I love you because I'm going to fuck you"
whichever one it is
i'm pushed over an edge
that leads nowhere
within 30 minutes
i've slammed down
four hard drinks
a swerve into the fast lane
not my usual
prissy glass of white wine
on the drive home
i lie on the backseat of Barb's car
my best friend
an obese psychologist
two qualities about her
i'm especially fond of tonight
i'm drunk
i can say what i want
and what i want to say
over and over
is why did he pick her
why why did he pick her
I know she's tiny
and divinely rapeable
but why did he have to pick her
Barb does her best:
"you're a normal-sized, adorable woman"
groan
"everyone loves your sense of humor"
whatever
"she doesn't have your intelligence"
"she's probably a neurosurgeon!" I snap
my alcohol addled brain
finds its own ego boost
i'm popular
in our under 35
Jewish singles group
all the women want Mike Lippman
who has a date with him?
me!
for a moment i smile
reveling in my victory
Mike is darkly sexy
at least he was
after being in the presence of magnificence
he's an overgrown bar mitzvah boy
i want the manliest of the men
I need the king of the gods
i want Country Dick
"i have to throw up"
Barb swerves into a Chevron
In the convenience store
my queasiness abates
i score a box of animal crackers
a rare and perfect gas station find
back in the car
i bite off the heads
of sweet lions tigers and seals
willing myself
to erradicate the ghost
of a tiny blonde woman
in a racerback tank top
whose night in heaven
is my living hell
is a mountain of a man
i want to climb him
my personal Everest
he's the larger than life frontman
of the Beat Farmers
cowpunk band I adore
but he likes
the little blonde morsel
sitting next to me
she's a yummy little scrap
of trailer park humanity
replete with double negatives
and lower back tramp stamp
visible from the bottom
of her tiny racerback tank top
Every Beat Farmers show
has a quiet time
Country Dick
sits in the middle of the floor
we form a circle around him
"we're in the Arizona desert" he commands
that voice
pornographic baritone
"the night is pitch black
"we're surrounded by shooting stars"
more guided imagery
slightly slurred (he drinks a lot of beer)
everyone's transported
it's communal and beautiful
he launches into Ball of Yarn
a ballad
about venereal disease
that's the Beat Farmers for you
Halfway through the song
Country Dick is feeling amorous
wants some female company
he looks in my direction
and keeps going
not for long
for next to me
is Lolita Bambi Tanqueray
the morsel
in the racerback tank top
like an eagle
Country DIck swoops up
her twistable
bendable
fuck a thousand ways little body
she's on his lap
an astonished purring kitten
he continues to sing
in his manliest man
deeper than deep baritone
six foot two
Wyatt Earp duster
well worn cowboy hat
it would be impossible
to design a man i'd want more
even before the show
i'm alight with anticipation
Country Dick makes me feel
pitch black
intense stirrings
the kind I try to ignore
the kind that just can't
be ignored any longer
the rowdy bar crowd
drinking to a fever pitch
awaits the band
the PA system blares a song
popular at the time:
You.... want it all
but you CAN"T HAVE IT
it's an exquisitely menacing message
amplified to the heavens
so immaculately foreboding
my masochistic heart lurches
it screams Hallelujah!
now the moment is here
Country Dick encircles his conquest
strong arms squeezing her dangerously tight
looking intently into her eyes
what he's thinking is clear
"I love you"
"I want to fuck you"
"I want to fuck you because I love you"
"I love you because I'm going to fuck you"
whichever one it is
i'm pushed over an edge
that leads nowhere
within 30 minutes
i've slammed down
four hard drinks
a swerve into the fast lane
not my usual
prissy glass of white wine
on the drive home
i lie on the backseat of Barb's car
my best friend
an obese psychologist
two qualities about her
i'm especially fond of tonight
i'm drunk
i can say what i want
and what i want to say
over and over
is why did he pick her
why why did he pick her
I know she's tiny
and divinely rapeable
but why did he have to pick her
Barb does her best:
"you're a normal-sized, adorable woman"
groan
"everyone loves your sense of humor"
whatever
"she doesn't have your intelligence"
"she's probably a neurosurgeon!" I snap
my alcohol addled brain
finds its own ego boost
i'm popular
in our under 35
Jewish singles group
all the women want Mike Lippman
who has a date with him?
me!
for a moment i smile
reveling in my victory
Mike is darkly sexy
at least he was
after being in the presence of magnificence
he's an overgrown bar mitzvah boy
i want the manliest of the men
I need the king of the gods
i want Country Dick
"i have to throw up"
Barb swerves into a Chevron
In the convenience store
my queasiness abates
i score a box of animal crackers
a rare and perfect gas station find
back in the car
i bite off the heads
of sweet lions tigers and seals
willing myself
to erradicate the ghost
of a tiny blonde woman
in a racerback tank top
whose night in heaven
is my living hell
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