Yet another close game
decided by a bad call.
Why bother?
Forget the game. Forget the refs.
Flip a coin.

Ask a lab mouse.
If he could talk he'd tell you,
"better than *******."

Use a credit card,
cut it into lines.
Snort it, chew it. Or spike
it directly into a vein.

Check out the slip of a woman
seated at the corner table.
She's smoking a cigarette
and shoveling spoonful
after spoonful of the stuff
into her coffee cup.

It's ubiquitous,
in soda, in lemonade,
sprinkled onto donuts,
baked into cookies.

Fudge, cotton candy,
creme brulee.

"One lump or two?"
asks the hostess.
The reply: "Just keep 'em coming."

The PSA: "This is your brain,
these are you're eyes widening."

Better than ***?
Ask the man
in the leisure suit talking
to the pretty woman at the bar.

"Give me some sugar,"
he says playfully.

She grabs a handful of packets,
drops them in his lap.

He grins. "Thanks doll,
you're a lifesaver."

So it came to the point
where nothing else was working
so we ******.

We ****** crazily, frantically.
We ****** desperately, despairingly.
We ****** without rhyme or reason.
We ****** without hope.

We ****** until we were exhausted.
We ****** until we were both sore.
We ****** and ****** until we
could **** no more.

Then we broke up.

Still want to pony up?

Do me a favor.
Take three ones
or a five out
of  your wallet
and flush the bill/bills
down the toilet.

Don't give the litmag
the satisfaction
of doing it for you.

They scream as horribly
As anyone else
When they themselves
Are tortured.

If they sit you down and
Inform you in a certain tone
Of voice that you have options,
You might as well reach
For that strategically placed
Box of tissues--

You're going to need it.

Treat us like children
or, worse, idiots

Like we're recently
sprung from The Clinic,
our lobotomy scars still fresh

They tell their clients that this
dumb-down strategy works

Sadly, they're probably right