The Average, One-Lining, Love-Liable Narrator

Because now your pimple skin has pus;

Now you hobble, dusting spider webs, gawking

Cause this old delinquent gave you a cus


As you smell like some rank, dirty underwear

Especially after you insisted that I bleach

Skid marks off my aged tighty whitey spare.


Then you go off to the toilet seat

While I’m smoking a bone, and I’m thinking:

“You know, farting should be discreet”


And yes we’re both from northern towns,

And yes we both support the same political party—

When chance is like this, you place your bets down!


And so here you are, paying rent to live with me

But why are you there, smiling, drinking tea

While I’m here, pitcher full of martini.


Please go fix your school girl hair some other way

I, myself, would be hip with a mohawk or krisna tail,

But I couldn’t find either in a toupee.


Oops, there goes your humpback-whaling whine

Bleeding for affirmations of my eternal love,

While I, with my Playboys, am feeling just fine.


And now I’m sending you this Hallmark card

After they’ve gone and throwd me in jail,

And I’ll be happy here mooning the guard


And bullying the skinny kid with purple hair;

At which point I realize that you’re special to me.

I, a threat to all whose commissary I share,


Am here without you, shirtless in my dominion

Cause regardless of what anybody says of my hernia gut,

I can count on you for a numb-nun-special one.


All you readers forming disgustful theory

Better learn that love at its best persists on a shelf.

You are single, or celibate, or less normal than me


And cannot admit that every restless, questing soul

Abounds outside love’s confines.  So criticize me

From the depths of your existential hole,


I know that the miracle of love is the act of not loving too.

It is a quest for stench and misery and marriage

So we ain’t alone when we take off our rancid shoe.