Fat Bottom Girl Said What

Blight

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

Appropriate

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