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Flight of the Chevy

Flight of the Chevy

Becky told me my breasts are exquisite,
that she’s by rule an ass girl, but for me
she could change. I tell her when I visit
that I donated my junker, and she
grins, noting that perhaps it was my car,
my gross-polluting car, that did her in.
Post-op, she bears some awfully ugly scars
that make me cringe–suddenly she’s so thin.
When I donated my car, the tow truck
driver wouldn’t stop staring at my chest.
As I signed the many forms, I thought, “Fuck!
They’re just boobs! Would you please give it a rest?”
Looking at Becky now in that bed, my
heart sinks. I look down at my breasts and cry.


Shakespearean Sonnet

Categories: Poetry
  1. July 29, 2011 at 6:34 pm

    I’ve always loved this one…

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