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"GOING DAFFY IN A MESSY WORLD"


inside that four-cornered 
room I slept with her and 
the Mickey's that love potato 
chips. inside that room where 
we made love, we smoked our 
smokes above the doghouse. 
there were cigarettes in the 
morning, in the afternoon, in 
the evening, in the rain and 
in the middle of the night 
when the poor bastards of the 
city walked like the old 
hookers of London. 

it's said the only sure thing 
is death. for us, we haven't 
died. we gave life to a box 
with a window overlooking the 
grapefruit tree. inside, I 
made her moan, bite her lip 
and climax. inside, she tore 
my life apart with a single 
question, threw blankets in 
the dryer, and she gave me a 
clean shirt to dry myself 
after a shower when there 
was no towel. 

the short life I've had with 
her isn't what defines the 
value. it's the decision I 
made to write about her from 
the very start. our days 
together were stubborn like a 
dead car in the middle of 
rush-hour. 

I now look out another window 
but the thought of her 
remains like a felony until 
death. she looks out the same 
window above the doghouse 
and wonders if I too, have 
become an old hooker from
London. 

the grapefruit tree followed
our moves, listened to our 
words and got a pornography 
movie every night. as the 
tree continues to bear fruit, 
the only confusion left, is 
why I thought it was a lemon 
tree.


By: Chicano Eddie
1-16-2017

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