Charles Rammelkamp

Pussy Whipped

“If she’d given him a shit sandwich,
he’d have asked her
for a chaser of piss,”
Claudette McCoy sighed,
taking a deep drag from her Pall Mall.
The smoke dribbled from her nostrils
as from a pair of hookah hoses.

She sat across the kitchen table
from her husband, Ron,
lamenting her teenage son’s broken heart.
He’d just been dumped
by a girl who considered herself
too good for him.
Amber had moved on
to a more ambitious boy.

Claudette tried not to feel contempt
for her son, having pegged Amber
a climber the moment she met her.

“I felt the same way about you,”
Ron commented, “when we started dating.”
It made Claudette smile.
Her husband always knew
the right thing to say.

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