Rhonda drives a Honda
She’s always going out
Out on Monday
Out on Tuesday
Wednesday for a mid-week martini
(Extra dirty, please, it’s Dry Hump Day, ha ha)
Out, Out, Out
Oil stains her empty driveway
Laundry stains every Thursday
She’s mountain fresh by Friday, sexy and perfumed
Out again
Farther out
Off the deep end
All night, baby
Into the weekend
Bar hopping
Man shopping
The perfect forget away, she’d always say
Where no loyalty is required on a flotsam sea
One piece of trash floats as well as another
As long as he doesn’t live with his mother
And he’s hot, and charming, and a good kisser
He’ll flirt and she’ll flirt back
Saturday night
Highball glazed, hazel green eyes
Searches his
Finds nothing
Still falls for his romantic whispers
Practiced lies
Dark shark eyes
Cock thinking
Smoking a Camel, bent over, shooting pool
Playing it cool
Muscles, T-shirt, jeans
All the women drool
The same old whispers
A deadly deception
(Unoriginal as the serpent of Eden)
Easy prey
The catch of the day
Crossing every boundary
She stumbles
Into a cesspool of drunken shallowness
Slipping and slopping around
No longer innocent
Coming on to everyone
0.12 BAC
Extra gullible
Very vulnerable
No longer herself
(or maybe she is)
Risking the undertow
Please don’t go
Echoes over a pelvic beat
Her carotid artery
Thump, thump, thumping
Out on the floor
Out too far
Her cherry polished toes barely touching bottom
Bobbing up and down with Bob from match.com
(One month out of prison)
Groping her ass without restraint
He’s taking advantage
She’s feeling quite faint
Another victim
Passing out
Out cold
Out, Out, Out
Drowning in water that’s been turned into wine
Having saved the best for last
Bob thinks he is Christ
Purchases one more glass
Blood red
Night of the living dead
She’ll forget about her past and a good man she loved to hate
This one will drive her home before it gets too late
Out on Highway 221
South Carolina
Under the blooming magnolia
Kisses always taste better there
She’s not wearing any underwear
Out of control Rhonda
Heart no longer beating in her chest
For anything or anyone
Behind that perfect, hard nipple breast
Sunday next
Not a single phone text
Only silence
And a scripture text
Her final date with a priest
An eternal day of rest
Dressed up
Painted up
Pretty head under a stone
Always out
At St. George’s cemetery
Andrew Dabar