"The Repainted Devil, Part IV" by Giovanni Dania

The Repainted Devil, Part IV

I was chillin' at the crizzib, smoking a menthol--
Hundred, not king-size--
Thinking about the fun I'd had that evening.

There isn't enough beer in the world
To make her attractive.
I was actually doing her a favor,
I was doing everyone a favor.
I figure behind a dumpster was the perfect place to leave her ass.

There was plenty of it to leave, too, damn!

I wondered when she'd stopped caring,
When the spoon or the fork or the shovel had become so feather-light
That she'd never put it down.

She'd reminded me of buffalo,
How, when you shoot them right between the eyes,
They just sort of collapse into themselves,
Falling with a comical sound.
She'd reminded me of that when I'd eventually punctured
Her abdomen with my knife, which is now in disrepair.

She mussed my hair with that breeze.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for some meat on the bones,
I cringe whenever some supermodel cavorts on TV
Trying to sell us crap we can't possibly fit into.
There is no way you can convince me that that's natural.

But that doesn't mean you should go the other way, either.

Rest in peace, tubby,
I say while chillin' at the crizzib,
Smoking my menthol.

Hundred,
Not king-size.

July 15, 2003