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Dig Tap.
By C.J. From Poet Bullet in LA.
The second I got that dig tap on the shoulder blade.
I knew it was over.
The guy with the big job was tapping the guy with the no job.
Which meant, soon, no more blowjobs.
It was a matter of time
I knew she would leave me.
Because of the asshole I become
When going from check to check
Will be less than that.
I’ve always gotten by for one.
Reveling, craving , lusting the confusion.
Embracing “how we gonna eat tonight?”
Fuck it I am the master of Cheese and Mac tonight.
Yeah, Mack the fuckin MASTER!
A low stakes gambler,
a Kerouac rambler.
I call when I need more money.
But just enough for one.
And a cold cut sandwich for her.
You can’t keep a woman with a cold cut sandwich.
Many slices of bread and cheese never completely covers the baloney.
Well, bread does.Cheese can buy you a few weeks.
She will Absorb some of the defeat, none of the victory.
She will dwell on the ass-kicking.
Not the comeback.
She lived on less than check to check? I’d pay her bills. We’re an ensemble.
The second he dig tapped me in the shoulder blade.
I knew it was over.
Because of the asshole I can become when suddenly I can’t give her what she wants.
When I lose the cool she loved.
The hair she loved.
The energy she loved.
An energy she doesn’t care to charge when things are pitch black.
And sometimes you should leave the track and the greyhound.
But I feed her cold cuts. She swallows it.
And I remember, she thought I was sexy when I took to her Burger King.
She thought,
I was.
Sexy.
I shouldn’t give her the benefit of the doubt.
I should say it’s all her fault and walk the fuck out.
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