Charred Memories

A Poem by Marshall

Ok-God, I've landed here 3 suitcases
full of charred memories
nights in the bawdy house, late night revelries,
poems soaked in syrup, roses that never got delivered
woman that kicked my
donkey to thy kingdom come
gfs that became ex-gfs over the weekend
all those naughty books and movies stacked high
and an old pen that wrote English Literature
full of lies.

I followed your words
thankfully only the 75, they said, you said.
Once I knew the other millions were written by mean men
in beards and with two mistresses each
out the window the books went
and real life in the real world of real
people began. Oh, its been fun!

Imagine Sir,
just before that last tequila
squirming at the bottom of the bottle
I was dancing with this bombshell
and it exploded in my face:
Go to hell! she hissed, fangs out and wobbling
So here I am master with the only baggage I have
and one slim green gideons bible
never, never, ever opened.

Nobody, nobody ever told me, sir
you yourself had
4 suitcases of the same stuff.

'Welcome home, son, take the back row please
there are others with larger suitcases upfront.
Don't ever go back and tell 'em
heaven is made of these people.
Enjoy your stay!'