A real lady I met, working to reunite post Katrina families with loved ones. |
This is me being sad. I have not had another opportunity to speak with you. Be careful what you wish for my friend. She said, in that way my mind must now eternally reserve for soccermom-dominatrix-deathinvestigators from the dirty old south. Wishes come true. Just like the tale of rattled bones, tea leaves, and the predictions of tattooed gypsies reading tarot cards on Beale Street where I stumbled after too many drinks. Don't tell me you are surprised by good luck, she said with a smile. Maybe good luck really does come in the person of a lonely, bizarre and complicated person. I am unique to you in your high caste society, that is unless you already know a lot of soccermom-dominatrix-deathinvestigators. This is the "About Christine" poem that appeared on my list none too soon. I may have cheated, no one ever said I had to play fair. Maybe I should have waited until we went to bed to steal your heart/soul/life. Without me you claimed to be feeling a little dry in a few too many ways. I stole you to motivate me. I'll write a poem about you, and love you always, or until the next time I fall for a soccermom-dominatrix-deathinvestigator. This is me being sad, because I have not had another opportunity to speak with you. |