BUD'S DAY.
Posted: January 13th, 2011, 8:47 am
Bud’s wife stands waiting for him to get home
From the store where he works, her arms folded
Over her large breast, her face stern as one
With haemorrhoids, and when he comes through the
Door, she says, why are you late? Huh? Have you
Been with that skinny sour faced tart up
In furnishings? You been checking out her
Workings? No, Sweetiepie, I’ve been working
Very hard, the Boss wanted me to do
Overtime. Sure he did, his wife says, it
Wouldn’t surprise me at all if you both
Weren’t giving her some, that skinny assed bitch.
No, Honeybunch, just keeping the backlog
Down as best I can. Liar, Bud Frasbee,
You couldn’t tell the truth if it was sitting
On your tongue waving its arms and ready
To leap from your mouth; you’ve been seeing that
Fat assed whore in the clothing department,
Been getting her to try on the new short
Skirts and eyeing her ass as she does so.
No, Angelface, it’s not like that at all.
I never as much as look at any
Other female, my eyes are focussed on
You; you know that. Don’t give me any of
That jackshit, Mr Frasbee; you’ve been there
Trying out those big beds in the bedding
Department, having that short bitch with her
Blonde hair to bounce it some with you. No, no,
Cherriepie, I swear to any god you
Want that I am not that kind of man, I am
A strictly one-woman kind of man, a
Hard working, head down, eyes down kind of guy.
Sure, his wife says, and I’m the young queen of
Sheba with an ass to match and if you
Aren’t at it with them whores what you do
All day? Huh? Work? Bud takes off his coat and
Hat and pours himself a drink as his wife
Continues mouthing the accusations,
Her words getting so familiar that
They seem like some high note aria from
A Mozart opera, and sitting in
The chair by the TV, he watches the
News channel come on with a sudden flash
Of the assassination in Dallas
Of JFK, and still his wife talks on,
Her voice in the background, a melody
To a deeper tragedy on a far
More memorable day, than the sweet thing in
Soft furnishings who let him have his way.
From the store where he works, her arms folded
Over her large breast, her face stern as one
With haemorrhoids, and when he comes through the
Door, she says, why are you late? Huh? Have you
Been with that skinny sour faced tart up
In furnishings? You been checking out her
Workings? No, Sweetiepie, I’ve been working
Very hard, the Boss wanted me to do
Overtime. Sure he did, his wife says, it
Wouldn’t surprise me at all if you both
Weren’t giving her some, that skinny assed bitch.
No, Honeybunch, just keeping the backlog
Down as best I can. Liar, Bud Frasbee,
You couldn’t tell the truth if it was sitting
On your tongue waving its arms and ready
To leap from your mouth; you’ve been seeing that
Fat assed whore in the clothing department,
Been getting her to try on the new short
Skirts and eyeing her ass as she does so.
No, Angelface, it’s not like that at all.
I never as much as look at any
Other female, my eyes are focussed on
You; you know that. Don’t give me any of
That jackshit, Mr Frasbee; you’ve been there
Trying out those big beds in the bedding
Department, having that short bitch with her
Blonde hair to bounce it some with you. No, no,
Cherriepie, I swear to any god you
Want that I am not that kind of man, I am
A strictly one-woman kind of man, a
Hard working, head down, eyes down kind of guy.
Sure, his wife says, and I’m the young queen of
Sheba with an ass to match and if you
Aren’t at it with them whores what you do
All day? Huh? Work? Bud takes off his coat and
Hat and pours himself a drink as his wife
Continues mouthing the accusations,
Her words getting so familiar that
They seem like some high note aria from
A Mozart opera, and sitting in
The chair by the TV, he watches the
News channel come on with a sudden flash
Of the assassination in Dallas
Of JFK, and still his wife talks on,
Her voice in the background, a melody
To a deeper tragedy on a far
More memorable day, than the sweet thing in
Soft furnishings who let him have his way.
