Monday, February 27, 2006


The old hooker won't
shut her mouth while
I fuck her, punch her
off and on for the hell
of it.

She mews like a kitten,
brags through torn lips
how Carter once hired
her and Hugh Grant and
even JFK, the day before
his blood flooded
the streets in Texas.

She claims she once
did a Platoon on leave
in Saigon before they
marched back to orange-
colored jungles and even
has a dried Cong ear
to prove it.

I decline her offer
to show me.

By now, I know the bitch
is delusional. She smells
like stale smoke and
onions, besides, but
the price was right and

a man has his needs,
doesn't he?


Pat Paulk said...

Perfectly laced with C19H28O2! I should know, I produce the stuff. Very good write!!

Pris said...

Thanks! Now what is C19H28O2???:-) And thanks for checking out my blog, too.

Geoff Sanderson said...

Oh, the aching sadness here, Pris. You say so much - at one remove - about this poor woman and her delusions. And hit quite a few male targets too.

BTW, don't try that Carbon/Hydrogen/Oxygen mix, or you will be off to La-La Land with the dicky-birds :-) (... though you might write some great poems ...)

Pris said...

I'll be very careful:-)

and thanks!

Shane said...

wow, so balanced - i don't know who to feel more sorry for the mean man or the resigned hooker.

Pris said...

I know, Shane. They're both lost.

gingerivers said...

Wow, what a poem! This reminds me of one I wrote, a gritty one once with Janis Joplin and Vegas (sin city) in mind, she was reputed to have slept with her whole high school football team, though I believe I also read the number was much smaller than that.

You have to get gritty to write a poem about a subject like this, I guess. Personally I don't care for profanity in poems, though I've written them before.