poem of the day 09.22.15

not my kind of girl

she’s cute yes

has a dorky charm

sneaks up on me at the bus stop

camel lights and all cassandra-filled me

says she’s carnie

which has me thinking circus folk

the fat chick from wilson-philips

oh, i don’t have time

to be cordial this morning

politically correct

a stone-cold gentleman

it’s late march and i’ve had it with the year already

have a cough from giving portia my umbrella

and getting stuck in the goddamned new spring rain

but carnie says she knows

some brother/sister combo i no longer do

says she’s an english lit major

but i never see her in any class

kris and i no longer go to anymore

this carnie translucent ghost white skin

her straight brown hair has tints of ruby

she stands like someone is getting ready to scold her

a punished dog

a soaking wet cat shivering in the cold

i bore her with bored babble because it’s all that i got

wonder why every time i meet one these types

i get apocalyptic visions of the future

i mean where are the knockout brown skinned girls in my life

danger nicotine-scented mouth women

who can fuck up and down frankstown road?

would they scare me?

carnie likes matthew sweet and the gin blossoms

she’s read kerouac, yes

but….

she probably likes to cuddle afterwards

i wonder would it be improper to check my watch

gee, the bus is never this late, i say to my fate

putting on my headphones

to slip into a d’angelo brown sugar haze

carnie says, hey, i’ve met your mom too

and man

i just know this thing

ain’t gonna work out.