With Love from Ocala
Ain’t a miracle she came home knocked up
after eight years of marriage
she waddled around
with the baby name book
makin list upon list
stuff you didn’t get done
cuz it interfered with your beers and shows
but later when that kid crawls around
on the cracked linoleum
blonde wave of hair
cornflower blue eyes
starin you down
you know damn well kid ain’t yours
he look kinda goofy
no-how yours
Old lady runnin around in house slippers
when you met she was wearin those stilettos
you thinkin how you gonna send this kid back
this foul mouthed little shit
look nothin like you
And now y’all sittin on the back porch
she’s potbellied and run down
you’re itchin to get at her anyhows
but this kid is suckin its thumb to a nub
got nothin to do with your dark hair
your eyes black as night
and olive skin rough now
from all that outdoors work you didn’t do
Something ain’t right with this dirty thing
rollin around the floors like a pig in mud
It ain’t right you say
Maybe it’s ok the little runt
is loose in the walls
and you’ll grow fondness
or perhaps some admiration
when the kid’s old enough y’all can have a chat
a little tete-a-tete at the table
with the devil servin y’all
those baby blues starin
straight into the soul you don’t have
needling the message you dead-ass missed
about shootin blanks
Horror Sleaze Trash 