This Is The Jacket
Last night my girlfriend came to bed
wearing only a brown leather jacket.
Wow, I said, cool jacket, but then
she pointed to a hole in it. Oh, that sucks,
I told her. It’s ruined. No, she answered
in between kissing me and reaching
into my boxers. This is the jacket
Andy Warhol was wearing back in ‘68
when that crazy woman shot him.
My Aunt Donna was working then
as Warhol’s mom’s visiting nurse.
She wanted to throw it out,
so my aunt just grabbed it.
The jacket ended up somewhere
on the floor by the time we finished.
I whispered in her ear if she was thinking
what I was thinking. Of course, she said
swinging her legs out of bed. Two bowls
of Campbell’s tomato soup, coming right up.
Horror Sleaze Trash 