Article: 261355 of talk.bizarre
From: (doc)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: On the bus (dialect warning)
Date: 01 Dec 1995 16:47:39 GMT
Organization: University of Washington, Seattle
Lines: 61
Message-ID: <>
Status: O

They a whore on my bus
trying to pick up a john
but she not trying very hard;
she say the lines, yeah, but
they so tired and old
they got mildew in the creases

She got a kid
she keep a low profile
she mostly wrap up in her slicker
and pretend to be a cello
or a set of golf clubs
or something
quiet and
dark and hidden
between the seats
she say "mama"
Mama say, not unkindly, more like
"shut up, honey"
and she knows the words
and she knows the tune
and she settles down to wait
'cuz it maybe means some money

"Shit, that your kid?" he asks loudly
like somehow it's only her fault
like he ain't the guy, or the name of the guy
that done it, that hunched atop her
(never let her on top, ain't that
  a fucking trip)
the guy that groaned and thought
of someone else
and made her a vessel
a vessel of desire without thought
of stupid want
of need without necessity
"Shee-it" he breathes, like
he got nothin to do with it
but they all three know that's a lie

So when the stop comes, they all get out
together, "come on, sweetheart", she says,
"let's get you to bed", and he mumbles something,
and she forces a laugh, and the sodium lamps
leave their faces yellow and stretched 
taut like drumheads in the artificial light
and the rain, and the diesel fumes,
and the smell of desperation in the air,
and the plaintive "mama?" drifting like fog
out to sea, to rest

the true ones are the worst
     Josh Hayes	    PDGA #9665