If Esther was any duller-lookin she’d

of been rust. Grunge on a yellow shirt

cuff. If Esther was

our daughter we’d of cried ourselfs

an our husbands to sleep knowin we done

somethin wrong, somewhere along

the way. Esther was the teacher’s

girl an didn’t know a hole in the ground

from her own crooked ass. An

nobody ever listened to a

word that girl said, it’s Esther, who give

a shit, right? She lied here an she

lied there an you couldn’t

give her the time of day without she’d

make somethin out of it to say like you

was hateful, so you just

stopped. Esther didn’t even graduate

an she was the teacher’s girl, so

you know it had to be somethin

wrong in her head. Senior year once she’s goin

down the hall screamin, yellin her

head off an we’s all sayin Esther

don’t you be worryin your poor mama an
everybody, and she’s just a

screamin anyway. If Esther

was our daughter we’d of tore into

her for sure. Nobody ever could

just stand that girl. She was always

runnin around with her dresses all holey

an her hair nappy and greased-up

anyway. Who could of guessed

she’d be runnin around with our husbands

nowadays. That whore.

03/22/2004

Posted on 03/23/2004
Copyright © 2024 Indigo Tempesta