Poetry of Samantha Boring
Cancer Stick
Tiny toxins trickle through
the tubular tip of my
taxable addiction. Apathetic
towards the agony tickling
across my trachea, I trudge on,
taking all the terrible truths
as a mockery of mortality.
Grandma at Best Buy
Damn my ovaries, they waited
until I was too old to enjoy this
new freedom. I'm surrounded by
young fresh supple bodies
darting back and forth like bees around
the honey pot of my fat wallet;
saying with lover voices
"can I help you ma'am?"
Underneath my purple smock a wild
jazz band begins to play and I long to
practice my fellatio-arpeggios on
the clerk's sizable trombone. Walking in
a sultry woman's sway I feel my hip
crack; and turning towards the
boy dripping in overactive-sex drive,
I bat my graying eyes in apology, and simply state
"I sure hope so."