Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the category “Poetry”

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


Photo Credit:  Byron Edwards


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










It’s been raining steadily for hours, and we should be playing hooky and lying in bed under that old quilt my grandma made that’s worn to a softer than down finish after years of use.

But you’re not here, and I have no idea where you are because I don’t know who you are even though I think about you so much you would think I would’ve dreamed you into life by now.

So instead of cuddling and conversations, I’ll keep trudging through my work day and my life like some automaton always wanting there to be more to this mundane existence but too scared to hope for it for fear it will never exist.


Maritime Moratorium



“Go with the flow,” you said,

as though it’s easy to ride the current

of these feelings I bleed.

The clouds of my mind obscure the North Star,

I have no compass to guide me,

and I find myself lost at sea.

No one sends a search party,

when no one misses you,

and your SOS is a silent scream.



Cell Level

Your home. . .

is in the curve of my hip

and between my thighs

and in the dip of my collarbone

and behind my 5th and 6th left ribs

and when you go (because they all go)

you will be imprinted in my cells




Peggy Gets a New Kelvinator



If that son-of-a-bitch thinks he can buy me off with a new refrigerator, he’s got another think coming.  I know he’s been doing the hanky panky with his secretary because he comes home every night smelling faintly of Shalimar, which I’m sure he bought her, and “Love That Red” lipstick on his collar, which I don’t wear, because that’s only for whores. That cad will get his tonight when I serve him up a little bit of rat poison in his pre-dinner martini, while I’m putting the finishing fluorishes on that new Wieneroni Casserole I’ve loaded down with strychnine.  That asshole will never know what hit him.


The crumbs you gave me

weren’t enough to sate the hunger of my orphan soul

Too long without proper sustenance

I gorged myself on the tidbits you dispersed

But my stomach turned in on itself

your lies burning holes in the lining

Starving to death is better

than trying to digest someone’s insincerities











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