Scammers
If men came courting with
Scam Likely
factory installed apps
where their do nothing appendixes
used to was
there’d be a lot less heartbreak,
tear-stained pillowcases,
and the constant need for
updated
fibs.
Scammers
Author: bothellboy
i love words. it's as simple as that. . . j
A Racist Bone
A Racist Bone
I don’t have one.
I don’t buy none.
I don’t borrow none,
I don’t crave none.
No!
I don’t want a single one
of those racist bones,
not underside my ribs,
not shielding my head,
not ‘tectin’ my heart.
No!
When I’s an innocent child
I’s not born with some those
racist bones,
and Mother don’t love me
racist bones,
and books don’t read me
racist bones,
and friends don’t friend me
racist bones.
No!
But just a second young man,
now I been thinkin’ ‘bout it
long time, goodly years while,
despite I lovin’ LeBron
and marvel that Stephen Curry pest,
why do my soul keep hopin’
yeah, hopin’,
quietly, so nobody see me,
nobody hear me,
nobody know me,
and if I don’t have no racist bone,
growing inside me,
secret in my mind somewheres,
crouched down my heart chambers,
camouflaged in my soul,
all invisible like,
then,
why,
I’m askin’ you truly why,
do I keep hoping some skinny
white kid come along,
someone most like
Cousy, Bird, Pistol Pete,
all rolled up in one
white kid
come along,
and put a stuffin’ on LeBron,
and hold Mr. Curry to 18 measly,
all the while putting up
a grand 42 and 12 assists
himself
on any given Saturday night?
If I got no racist bone,
then why am I thinkin’ that way?
Somethin’ not quite right here.
It be stuck my marrow maybe?
A Soldier’s Dilemma
A Soldier’s Dilemma
What you aim at,
Sir,
is not an
empty can
perched atop a
snowy fence post,
nor is it a
shadowy deer
gliding through
your autumn forest.
Rather,
your hand steady,
your eye focused,
your finger gentle
on the trigger,
you plot
to end the life of a
brother human being,
lest he
end yours.
Lady Coetzee Travels Abroad
Lady Coetzee Travels Abroad
At the checkpoint, Doortje Coetzee, a native geranium,
pottered along until she reached the front of the line.
The officer glanced through her South Africa passport,
then squeezed out a cordial greeting.
“Good morning, Ms. Coetzee. Where are you off to this fine day?”
Doortje offered up a hopeful smile.
“I have an auntie living in America. A small corner called Seattle.
Time I got round to seeing her.”
A pink blush flooded her petals.
“I’ll turn seven come spring.” She sighed. “Life is much too short.”
“Will Seattle be your final destination then?”
“No. Auntie winters in Arizona. We’ll fly there with her keeper in October.”
“I’ve heard Seattle is a bit rainy, but a lovely place,” the man said.
“Never been.”
“Love the rain,” Doortje replied. "If I avoid the frost I’ll be safe enough.”
The officer studied the document. “I take it you’re a perennial?”
Doortje giggled. “Depends. We’re all perennials at birth, of course.
Crane Bill cuttings on Mother’s side. My auntie is almost forty years old.”
“How nice,” he said. “Mine never last more than a season.
Suicidal little buggers.”
Dortje frowned. A tinge of anger crept into her voice.
“We can only live our life according to the affection we are given.
We need to avoid frost at all costs. It murders us straightaway.
Intense summer sun is difficult too. We crave afternoon shade.”
He handed her document back. “Sorry. Meant no harm.”
“None taken. If you’ll love those buggers of yours, they’ll love you back.
Fare-thee-well, she called, "I've a plane to catch.”
“Next,” he said.
Photo by Kris Schulze on Pexels.com
Bygone American Lingo
Bygone American Lingo
morning, Tom. how goes it?
good as gold. what’s new?
not a thing. ‘nother hot one, looks like.
need some gas?
fill 'er up, will yuh?
you bet. check the oil?
‘preciate it.
you're down a quart.
not surprised. these Chevys do like oil.
better add some 10-30.
okeedokee. let me check those tires too.
right rear looks a bit low.
thanks. it’s them dang potholes.
no end to ‘em.
lemme get that windshield.
what do i owe yuh, Dave?
four-fifty.
handle a twenty?
think so. you collectin’ green stamps?
wife is.
i'll get you some. be right back.
here you are, Tom. fifteen-fifty and the stamps.
thanks, Dave.
have a good one.
will do. you too.
Ripped
Ripped
Before fitness gyms
were invented,
a young man's
muscles
usually came
from helping
Father
lift the stones,
and fetching
water and firewood
for
Mother.
All the while,
Sister
studied her
face
in the looking glass,
and dreamt of the
ripped Lad
(apprenticed to the Smithy)
holding her in his arms.
Checked Baggage
Checked Baggage
My question then,
brother immigrant,
of Southampton,
were you already a racist
when you stepped aboard the Mayflower
with all your earthly belongings
that chilly September day in 1620,
or did you get infected
much later in Mississippi?
