IF THE BUBBA
IF THE BUBBA HAD BALLS SHE’D BE THE ZAIDA
I don’t want to be stung by Fall’s last wasp
I don’t want to be lashed by the critic’s tongue
I have finally gone public with my poems and
yesterday the muse shrieked:
“You fucking famewhore. I’m outta here.”
So I wrote a middling poem about Spring 2013
When it will be green Oh so green
—
Fall 2012
*for Charles Bukowski & Illinois Atkins


Oh, so green, good one!
Harman Atkins
Buke would be proud!