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Lockjaw (revised)
by Angela ThomasHe 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, admiring themselves through the sunshine, Lockjaw.
Why does she get a tennis 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. 06/18/2004 Author's Note: just a little line revision.
Posted on 06/18/2004
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
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