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Carol – Oh radio past blast.
Sat back on Ercol she purrs James Last lights up, relaxes long-legged, feet up
now dragging a plume of blue and yellow from her deep down chest.
Carol – Oh radio past blast.
Her Nescaf perched on a slender oak arm teeters and swings along, sings along
to those silvery soothers until it slips and stains her slacks coffee red.
Carol – Oh radio past blast.
she’s mad like a blonde girl makes out. My fault. ‘The drip made me drop it.’ Like an ice cream nose I clown it out but my heart sinks lower than my balls.
February 19, 2015