Whitetrash and Lesbian Moms poems

Newest poems for my third zine, they're still in working condition.

Carol is a suburban mother of three high on Prozac

With a name like that she was offered little choice in the path her life took

Barb drinks draft Pabst Blue Ribbon with breakfast every morning

Name choice again, determining destiny

But alas there was lesbian sex in suburbia

Quite literally leaving it to beaver

Just add splash of semen to lead to my birth

A moment where people came together

Where people believed in something that will inevitably fail

Years ago, I found Big Barb’s vibrator in the closet

Thought it was a flashlight and then decided

_________(STILL IN PROGRESS)

I would walk around the neighborhood at night

Preferring the lightless streets

It always smelt like pop tarts that are missing the rainbow sprinkles

There were so many straight people I feel uncomfortable

I had lots crafting hobbies

And a dismal sex life

Last year I sat in my prom dress just waiting to break my hymen

I wanted that virgin mary extra bloody

But I find fucking with the opposite sex is a bit repulsive

All the men I dated were too hairy with small dicks

So as of now I’m sitting bed eating pizza

Wine stains laced through the room

And there’s a passed out M to F tranny next to me

My moms love her and frankly, for the next few months I do too

__________________________________________________

We sat in a truck bed

in a two acre parking lot

The Nascar Café to the east and the Fudruckers west

Holes in my stockings and mud on his boots

Dried blood on his face and wet food my hair

We were perfectly wholesome, well-natured white trash from 7:30-10 last night

After that

I’m not sure why we smell like mistakes

Maybe,
we can blame it on

The empty bottles of champagne,

Or the smashed pack Pall Mall Blues,

His mismatched socks

That Diet squirt I needed to feel thin

The pint of Jim Beam I needed to feel nothing

Or that bag of cat shit he said was taking to trash

Perhaps it was bags gummy snacks that I was storing in my shoe

The three-day old McDonalds coffee is always suspect

_______(STILL IN PROGRESS)

What can I say, you can’t hide money.