Lockjaw by Angela Thomas He was young once and i'm sure he scorns at twenty-something year olds who think they know it all. He once knew it all. He knew it all on a blanket under a tree, somewhere where daisies weren't weeds, but flowers girls wore in their hair. Why does she get a tennish racket? Where does she shop? Like I'm going to bring down the plane with a breavement ticket, two two inch foam sandles and a fucking butane lighter. A break, Lockjaw, give me a fucking break. She's got big feet and I bet a size eleven, hard to find, you know. I bet she keeps a book by the bedside and her husband wears L.L.Bean. She works it, you know, they are decieving, Lockjaw, always decieving. Like that asian couple. Married by the slants they admired each other through. She's making him ginger tea and he's making her tired. Not the same restaurant, huh, Lockjaw? Ever notice how older black men seem to know it all? Like they have seen it all, done it all and could tell you for hours, if you paid to listen. Yeah, they could. A racket. She could kill the whole damn dingy ass plane with that. Nothing like butane, Lockjaw. Fat white women are squishy and jiggly. Fat black women are just black. Dressing older, acting older, growing older, hell, being older, doesn't make you any older if you can't hide everything from your eyes, Lockjaw. 04/30/2004 Author's Note: This is a free thinking prose poem. No offense was intended by any of the stereotyping that may be contained herein. Posted on 04/30/2004 Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)