the language of love in a land of despair
six billion people on the planet
and our karmas intersect in a town so small
it can’t afford a marching band or a patron saint
fifty-eight million square miles of land mass on the planet
and our lives bump into on another
in a two-stall carwash off the old highway
while I’m wearing cut-off blue jeans that expose
my emaciated old man legs and bony knees
she’s about thirty and obviously from out of town
chestnut hair and deep green eyes
sixty-eight hundred languages more or less
spoken on this planet dominated by jabber mouths
and all I can think to say is nice day
oui she replies
a fucking Frenchie what the hell
in this dinky town in this backward state
with nothing for miles around
but cow pastures and wheat fields and stifling heat
a hot fucking frenchie
ten feet away from me
and I dodder like my cousin Howie
who hasn’t been able to eat solid food
since Nixon took his final copter ride
one expert says the average person will speak
over three quarters of a billion words in a lifetime
but the next gems that fall out of my mouth are nice car
can you believe it?
a hot fucking frenchie in a sleek BMW
in a concrete car wash in dead as hell Gutmore, Kansas
and our entire relationship amounts to five words
and that humiliating moment when the soapy mist from my spray gun
drifts into those mesmerizing eyes
Horror Sleaze Trash 