Tuesday, 14 September 2010

Poem: My Old Boss

She peels to emptiness –
A hollow mold
Where her heart should be

And to travel outward
Is a journey through layers:
Duplicity, jealousy, envy, malice
Encompassed by a crisp, crackling
Surface of selfishness.

She cries for herself
Smells of last night's booze,
Doused in cheap perfume
Bulging from tight gold leather pants.

Daily she recounts the numerous slights
Her daughter's plights
Spiked barbs at her ex-husband
Insolent stabs of hostility
Aimed at people passing by

She guffaws at the marvel of herself
Shoves your shoulder
Hoots at the men
Refers to the sexual
Wails at The Injustice
And soothes her self-indulgences
With a lusty, gravelly
"Life's too short!"
Then gives you the shirt off her back
Out of guilt.

She is, however, hilariously funny to watch.

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