One to Smile About

i was watching
smoking
on the bench.
her face
was soft
and nice looking.
very delicate,
like if god used a light hand.
a very genuine smile, and her teeth were a little crooked.
i liked that,
those crooked teeth,
it showed some flaw in the work,
made it seem perfect,
but askew,
in the most beautiful way.
her eyes were big and round,
grey was the color.
i was always a sucker for those wide eyed girls.
they seemed so amazed by even the smallest things.
she was small, with auburn hair,
and had on this very flowing dress
with small flowers on it
i wanted to get lost in those flowers
just lay in there and forget about time,
roll around in the warmth and get lost between her thighs.
she had small delicate hands, hands that had never
seen scalding hot water
or grabbed red hot handled pans
splashed with hot grease
or cut open with several different knives
or blisters.
i looked at my hands,
and i felt proud that they were so ugly.
so scarred and beat up.
nice small soft feet, with black sandals,
not those ugly cork sandals that looked so horrible on women.
but small simple things, that made the red polish on her toes
pop
in the morning sun.
she grew tired of standing so
came over and sat with me on the bench,
and i caught her scent on the wind.
it was very sweet.
i sat there transfixed.
a girl this soft shouldn't be allowed to ride the bus.
i felt like she caught me looking,
but lucky for me i had on my sunglasses,
so she couldn't catch my eyes,
i was jotting this all down in the pocketbook,
when she asked me what i was writing.
i thought about lying for a second,
and then decided i'd tell the truth.
"i was describing you."
i excused myself and got up
walked across the street
and disappeared into the alley.
it's better that way.

Be Motivated

we've got to fight now,
while we're still young and vulnerable.
later on,
we'll become frigid and shallow,
occupied by mortgage payments and hallow ambitions.
watching high school girls jog down suburbia
straight into the depths of Sorority Row.
Wishing we could be youthful and full of "zest"
we won't fuck like we used to
and won't talk like we could
we'll be useless to the cause
and forget what we stood for.
our identities will become badges worn on our sleeves
so any grocery clerk
bartender
or
whore
can identify me.
walking the streets because if we stay home
on the couch
we think we'll die
depression will eat us
because our significant other will die before us
and then we'll really be left
with
nothing.
but sentimental memories
of sometime.
boy,
can i just turn in my badge now?
i'm not even a quarter of the way through this
and from here
they all look like shit anyway.

shit.