Email Poem

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Poem

Tootle Lou met the gang at the McDonalds by the sea,
She shambled in with pants too big and stains for all to see.
We chewed and swallowed but never tasted,
Brain receptors craving stuff that Tootle Lou had wasted.

A carnal exchange that blew on a dime;
For that, it is true, she was always on time.
One after the other, our loads made our minds.
It was later in the decade that I opened the blinds.

Tootle Lou has a baby -- a spawn not of this earth:
Rings in her nose, unwashed hose, a pain she can't desert.
Come one, come all, and abuse her,
User after user.

Tootle Lou reads poetry -- her voice is smart and sad.
A pretty face lies buried in a made-up, phony fad.
No prince of old is coming to slay the Mongol hordes.
Tootle Lou is a friend in need, and no friend shall I abhor.

That day I came to need her, she was lost in powdered fluff.
Her eyes I'm sure they saw me, but her mind was in the rough.
Her perfumed arms I warmly held while lifting up her head.
My Tootle Lou was smiling.  My Tootle Lou was dead.

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