It’s the 1990’s and No One Really Cares who You Are

Standard

overheard at a party:

(“do you incite
jealousy,
or keep it all in your pants?”)

(“we are dealing with a woman here”)
it takes one to know one that i’m the best
and i can kiss.

you know, thanks to the mobile phone,
my girlfriend over there hears me from a thousand miles away
even if i’m on the tube.

i took sara along with me  (“can you see her in the corner over there?”)
if you get close enough to her she’ll tell you she’s a
pyromaniac with a taste for danger (“haha!”)
only last week she admits that it’s purely
chemical.

it’s true;
last week i caught her
on the verge of a mental breakdown;
she faltered in the street wearing her
nightgown and she
finally walked back to the hotel and said
no one would really care if she
fell down.

then i yelled at her for about twenty minutes about
how idiotic she was being but
if she’d’ gone
i’d’ve said she was a wonderful woman.
(“she’s a real piece of ass”)

funny you mention it–
she takes hours and hours getting dressed for me
(“we all want the same things, eh?”)
but when she finally gets to the party she
stands to face the wall
and hopes for somebody else to turn up
(“or won’t–it’s still your call”).

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

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