A woman hobbles past on a wooden peg leg.

She is side stepping to ambient EDM.

I question the leg, but I have to admit she is hot.

Why do the handicapped, I’m sorry physically challenged

make me feel so guilty for being able bodied?

Is it because I live like a sloth and not up to my potential?



A group of ladies walk in, they are all over forty

and look as if a reality show is being filmed.

Rather than a tramp stamp one put the butterfly high up.

It’s wings are spread out over her shoulder blades.

She is the sexy one, no she is, no her, no she has a kid,

I can’t decide.


The ladies wait for their drinks in front of the tycoons.

They are here every day.

Black couple, from another country,

conducting some sort of business.

They live constantly online and on their phones.

The big table is full of the homeless newspaper hoarders.

They are hunting for quotes to write down on napkins.

I can see his old Mercedes out the window

So filled his suspension is broken.


The sun is setting and the locals are storming in,

mingling with the beach goers and tourists for smoothies and blends

It’s not hot enough for bikinis,

but my perversion will take what it can get.


One thought on “Still Alive In Lynch

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