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your third chance took a week to squander.
by Eli SkippYou've got Tira-Flecha Nicaragua Mafia blood in you,
And it shows.
It's 1 a.m. on I-95, US1, heading south and we're not together but
You kiss my mouth when I leave.
And I couldn't tell you why but,
A small part of me cringes
Everytime I meet your eyes.
So it goes.
Your parents think I'm a witch with my hair all a-fly
And I'll bet that's why you look at me that way.
Back in the day, you took up smoking all over again.
You dated my best friend behind my back and didn't tell me for years,
Because you were a man, so it's allowed.
What with those buck teeth,
Cigarettes look ugly as Hell on you. 02/05/2007 Author's Note: Whatever happened to Reggie A. Foote, I miss him, and I miss his words in conjunction with this poem:
"Boys are stupid; throw interstates at them."
Posted on 02/05/2007
Copyright © 2024 Eli Skipp
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 02/05/07 at 07:16 PM That was incredible.... so rough around the edges.... I enjoyed the imagery it evokes.... |
| Posted by Genevieve Sturrock on 02/06/07 at 02:12 AM i love the title...and third strike he's out, right? |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 02/06/07 at 03:57 AM Like Genevieve, the title grabbed my attention. Really makes me chuckle after reading this. The last sentence is a clincher. Toadally enjoyed this. Men can be such toads. Kissing them doesn't really help. |
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