Will you still love me? by Sissy Buckles

Is there a line
that must never
be crossed perhaps
some night if you had
to work late
or be out of town
on important business
and I really do appreciate
how very much
you love your job
and as a general rule
‘keep the ends out
for the tie that binds’
but if I were
to get hankering
for some eight-ball and
walk down the street
with my vintage
linen wrapped cue
in the brass-hinged case
and hang out at some
fantastic new workingman’s
saloon I’ve yet to discover
you know how I need
to connect with my old
blue collar vibe.
And what if I happened
to drink that one glass
of wine too many
attacking you
in utterly abandoned lust
(as I do all day
in my mind anyway)
when we finally
hit the sack my mouth
a sangria bruise
crushed to yours
would you give me aspirin
and fix mineral water
with baking soda
in the morning
for my upset tummy?
Or if I should get gloriously
lost for hours in
poetry and music
and revolution
at the downtown public library
maybe bust out
my dusty old crony the
Oxford Anthology of
English Literature Volume I
for a tonic of Chaucer
playing defiant hooky
from work forgetting
the shopping list
or cuss up a storm
riding in redneck pick-up trucks
raise a little hell with
my denim clad girl crew
at the rodeo sporting a
Sex Pistols tee and saddle shoes
and Lord help the man
who tries to take
my gun away
sweetest little Smith & Wesson
686 plus .357 seven-shot
snub revolver
helluva kick but fits slick
and perfect
in my petite hand
bought at the
Del Mar Trade Show
after bozo #3 threatened to
burn all the hair off my head
and break my face
on a curb, I learned early
it’s a brutal world
six separate assaults
on women alone
in my city
just last month
make no mistake
about it California is
still the Wild West
shoot they’re even talking
secession up north
Jefferson Statehood Project
so it’s staying, too
put that in your hat
and smoke it
hopefully with me
and really, drilling
down to the heart
of the matter
sometimes it sucks
to be one of the last
honest women in America
(besides that crazy bitch
in San Antonio)
and say honey, por favor
while you’re at it
will you pass
a lousy beat poet
the lime?

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