Selling Flowers At the Cardboard Intersection
HIM
I didn't ask to be born
neither did you.
And of all the shoes I've worn
you've walked very few.
My first job was to gather eggs
I was four then.
The welts on my legs
were for bringin' in
less was expected.
Five, eight, twelve
eighteen came uninspected
beatings delivered by unintrospective
role model.
Family values passed down
through saloons and brothels
and Sunday School dress-up to drown
screams of innocence
no voice to tell them with.
THEM
Little boy, this don't make sense.
Suck it up, embrace myth
eology please. It will ease you
and us who've worked very hard
protestantly ethicking virtue.
Son, we can quote bard.
You weren't blessed by our god might
you want work to make enough
to live and perhaps breed? Well, alright
then the non-negotiable answer tough
as it seems to liberal
scumbags is this deal:
Sign up your visceral
instincts to kill.
HIM
So I did
Copyright © Nancy Jones | Year Posted 2011
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