Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the month “April, 2017”

Unclaimed Ashes

Today I am lost to the gloom

and know I will wind up a lonely old woman

who will die alone in my house

and by the time they find my body

my seven cats

named after the Seven Dwarfs

will have picked my bones clean

but you can’t blame them because they were starving

and they don’t have opposing thumbs to run the can opener

and when they post my death notice

no one will recall who I am or who I was

because I never did anything of much importance

and after they burn me up

my ashes will sit in a little cardboard box on a shelf of some mortuary

because my son will be too busy to come pick them up

and eventually they’ll put them out for the trash man

and it will be apropos

since most of my life I have felt like garbage



I remember

like it was yesterday

30 years ago yesterday

how could I forget

that smile

that southern accent

that you dipped your fries in mayo

that time stopped on the dance floor

that you were 30 years too early

and I’m 30 years too late

and I’ve got a great sense of rhythm

but it seems my timing always sucks

and you

just like all the others

love someone else who isn’t me


Avocado Rotary Wall Phone



All my feelings have taken on a hazy effect, like my heart has forgotten how to feel strongly, and my memory can’t even recall

So I put on my galoshes and try to figure out how to wade through this game called Life, when it’s more like Monopoly and I’m always trying to rob Peter to pay Paul and Mary because the tax man cometh and he always wants more than his fair share

And all those people who promised they’d never leave me are all gone, and my avocado rotary wall phone never rings, and the pencil waits at the ready to dial a number but I’ve forgotten how to use the phone book or call information, and I didn’t really want to talk to anyone anyway

So I fill the tub with hot water and Mr. Bubble and climb in with a glass of Cold Duck and take a handful pills which are really just Smarties left over from the last Halloween, and I push the radio off the side of the tub with my toe into the water but the music just goes dead because it’s a transistor that I used to carrying around in my bike basket with the plastic flowers

And I think how the 70’s and 80’s ruined me for the 2000’s and this place sucks because our president now reminds me of numerous ex-boyfriends with tiny penises who loved to gaslight everyone and lie to themselves about being good people, when in fact they were narcissistic assholes who cared nothing for no one, and they’re raising armies of people exactly like them, influenced by social media and their need to be the center of everything

So I don’t fucking care anymore and wish the world would fuck off





I am a spoiled peach

with a pit as my vascular organ


As my body has become softened with time

my heart has become hardened


Bruises and tearing of the skin

a tome of inner vulnerability and weakness


When did the rot set in

so much putrid pulp traveling my veins and arteries


If only they’d used kid gloves

when handling me


Now leave me beneath the tree to decompose in peace

lest I contaminate the ripening fruit











Collection Agencies

My coffers are empty

because no one can count on the kindness of strangers

when it comes to paying emotional debts

morally bankrupt

the only direct deposit I can make

is the alcohol

straight into my gob hole

meant to fill my trust account

but it too

leaves me sinking

The usury of life

is too high

it’s extortion

and I’m no good at forgery and fraud

and hush money has no value

when you’re a truth teller





Roadside Memorial

Your life has been reduced

to a roadside memorial

of fake flowers bought at Dollar General

which have faded with time


considering the way you lived

bloated by too much cheap liquor

surrounded by empty Amazon boxes

and old National Geographic magazines

and weighted down by your past

For years

you tried to make it better

turn things around

but nothing ever stuck

and eventually everything spiraled

right back down the drain that was your existence

Where were those mourners when you were still alive


Tale of a Bradford



like a spring snowfall

the white flower petals of the pear trees

lie scattered in the gutter

cast off

because beauty never stays


a lion’s rage

the bough breaks

and comes crashing down

because resilience can only weather so many storms









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