It's that time of night when i get feverish
in my dreams, fucking girls with tits loaded,
thighs gloating and supple, pressure of hardcore
in between us, when I hear the thump.
A slamming; a jarring; a catapaulting into never.
Carlos lost his wife, she dipped in the middle of the night
when he'd passed out, she'd slipped out, gripped the kids
over their hidden mouths and whispered something about tipping out,
Pop had gone insane now.
Carlos broke a month later.
Told me and Ash to take everything. Exhaled a marlboro,
shucked his shoulders, ripped open that tiny Celica
and shifted. Gone.
Burns black-eyed into the carpet, bottles on the sill, pacifiers thrown like condoms--
haphazard, but carefully placed.
Now the people living there
throw the girl around,
she cries.