You think you can just
dump me, huh? Think
I am just going to let
you get away with that,
eh? Who do you think
you are? Well let me tell
you, mister, you ain't
nobody; you're just a
woman dumper,
a woman chaser, and
woman beater, who ain't
got no brain, just that
weedy thing between
your legs, that is all you
are. She puts down the
photograph on the white
mantelpiece, glares at it,
sticks her tongue out at it.
Besides you're losing
your hair, except up your
nose and in your ears, yes,
there you have plenty;
like sleeping with a ****
ape; you know that, huh?
She lights a cigarette and
puffs smoke at the photograph.
You know what your mother
said when I got in with you?
Huh? She said you're very
welcome to him; you can
have him; hope you can make
something of him, she said,
well I couldn't do it; I let her
down. She inhales deeply and
exhales over the frame. I hope
the dame you're with now,
gets to know what you are like
early; hope she ain't no push
over; hope she bangs you one;
hopes she gives you the pox.
She stares at the guy in the
frame; the celluloid image
black and white. I don't miss
you mister, she says, not in
the day, and certainly not in
bed or any time of night.
FICTIONAL POEM.