She caught me on the street.
She wanted to say,
“Go fuck yourself”,
But
I beat her to it.
And so she did.
love story
The USS Towers: A Sailor’s Lament
There she is,
Rusting under the fucking waves,
Our eternal mistress sleeps,
steel heart still.
We’re topside now,
but her ghost still raves,
In the depths where our memories chill.
Her engines’ dirty growl echoes in my head,
stale AC’s sour breath,
salt on my tongue.
Our small destroyer,
pitching, we bled,
Puking our guts out,
God, how we are wishing we were young again.
Mess decks,
a cesspool of stories and grease,
Hot, nasty coffee could raise the dead.
Shitty midrats barely kept the cold at bay,
Bitter sludge burning holes in our head.
Tossed us around like goddamn rag dolls,
Yet kept the enemy away,
our steel mother.
After long watches,
fucking dead on our feet,
She’d rock us to sleep like no other.
They sank her for practice, our old girl,
A fucking exercise,
that’s all she was worth.
Silent rage burns,
as memories unfurl,
Of our home, our hell,
now in the earth.
One by one,
we’ll ship out again,
Join that endless fucking Westpac cruise.
No more bullshit,
no more pain,
Just the freedom we finally get to choose.
She sails on through the starry night,
Her crew aboard,
forever free.
No brass to polish, no watches to fight,
Just us, our old gal,
and the endless sea.
M.Hatter
Girl with Dirty Feet
Me and my girl,
the girl with dirty feet,
We used to pass the days by sitting on the porch,
the evening wind satisfying and warm.
She draped her legs over my lap
as waves of orange and purple
washed over us,
cleansing us from
the hard day.
Not a sound could be heard, except the soft
snores from our old dog
and an occasional giggle.
I lay in bed now,
70 years on,
I can still smell the
old wood of the porch.
I can still feel that warm wind
and hear the soft snores of
a friend long gone.
Most of all, I can
feel the weight of
her feet.
Oh, how I miss my girl with the dirty feet.
Road Rage Romance
Out on the highway,
crossing the great American landscape,
I had a girl with me, hungry and eager.
Pulled in, took a piss, had a cig,
got her some food.
Back on the road, she excitedly opened the bag.
“Where’s your food?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
Truth is, I wasn’t.
“Well, then I’m not hungry…” she said, crumpling the bag.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re not hungry?”
“Here, let me have a fry.”
“No,” she said, throwing the bag out the window.
“Fuck you doing?” I yelled.
What the fuck? Ten bucks down the drain.
She started to cry.
“Why’d you throw away good food?”
My vision blurred from anger.
“Fuck you! I want to eat with you!” she screamed,
hitting me upside the head. “Why can’t you understand that?”
I reached over and slapped her,
she slapped me back.
We’re both slapping, and I miss the blue lights in the mirror.
Siren kicks in.
“Jesus, see what you did now, you cunt?” I yelled.
She hit me again.
Trying to drive, pull over,
while she’s hitting me,
I’m blinded by rage.
“License and registr- Hey! Stop hitting her!”
“Fuck you! Do you know what she did?”
“He has weed in the car! And he abuses me all the time!”
What the fuck! My anger’s off the charts.
“Out of the car!”
Gun pointed at me now.
I smack her one last time,
the last time for sure.
I never saw her, my car, or my personal belongings,
again.
Longing
In the quiet of his solitude, beneath the sky so wide,
An old man sits and thinks of youth, of love he’d cast aside.
Back to a time when he was young, in the heart of Chicago’s glow,
Working at the local Denny’s, where life seemed to move slow.
Her name was Sherri, fiery and bright, an autumn leaf aflame,
Her beautiful eyes sparkled with life, he whispered her name in vain.
They shared their dreams over sizzling grills, in coffee’s aromatic swirl,
He, yearning for the world’s expanse; she, a Chicago girl.
He loved her spirit, her laugh, her soul, she was his song of songs,
Yet the call of the horizon sang loud, to distant lands he thought he belonged.
He packed his bags, kissed Sherri’s cheek, “I promise sweetheart, I’ll return,”
Sherri chose to stay behind, in her heart, a silent yearn.
He wandered far, he wandered wide, letters penned with care,
Each ending with a whispered promise, hanging in the air.
The years rolled on, his heart grew tired, his dreams began to fray,
The world once vast, now seemed so small, he yearned for yesterday.
Now old and worn, he sits alone, his heart heavy with sorrow,
Missing her laugh, her spirit, her love, and the promise of tomorrow.
He missed the girl who never left, the city’s familiar hum,
The simplicity of Denny’s days, before the world had come.
From his chair, he slowly rose, to his desk of aging pine,
To pen a letter to his love, his sweet valentine.
“I miss you, Sherri,” he wrote with care, “I regret the day I roved,
My heart was always in Chicago, in the city where we loved.”
His heart beats on, in rhythm with time, beneath the sky so wide,
An old man sits and thinks of youth, of love he’d cast aside.
A letter sent, a promise kept, to the girl under neon light,
An echo of a memory, beneath the star-strewn night.
How I wish I never left you…
BlackDayz 