its friday after all. this is an old poem i found from my former life. this poem was written circa, i dont know, 2003. i used to daydream out the window at this bar i worked at. there was this putt putt across the street with old bleached out animals lining the holes. i liked that job, even though the prose says otherwise. every place has its moments

theres this lady
she looks like patsy cline
but no neck
shes in front of me slamming natural lite
she yells at me that her popcorn isnt salty enough
she yells she ate all the free buffalo wings and wants more
i think shes kidding
the yells again

im thinking about why she needs them so bad
she needs the wings to rejuvenate her neck
the wings will hatch spawns of her own grotesque self
and jump out of her neck like an alien
she needs the wings for her spawn hatchlings
so its not her fault shes such a bitch to me