fuck the reasons
that I am
yellowed newsprint
on your tableside

you never wanted me
to be as much as
a diversionary coffee ring
around that central theme

central savior air conditioning
wall to wall carpet bag
sanctimonious lies

I polished your nails
for the grind
of his pubic
marketing plan

you polished his.
then powdered your nose
fucked me up,
while he devoured

this tragic truth

three chords
framed in cinemascope

my spirit has long lived
in this damp.
now you have become
part of his weak script

that spaghetti-western song
typical in its wail,
blank stare,
banal

this is now your
small story

© Tom Watters 6/18/08