peek-a-boo
Active Member
dont ever get the idea I am a poet; you can see me
at the racetrack any day half drunk
betting quarters, sidewheelers and straight thoroughs,
but let me tell you, there are some women there
who go where the money goes, and sometimes when you
look at these whores these onehundreddollar whores
you wonder sometimes if nature isnt playing a joke
dealing out so much breast and ass and the way
its all hung together, you look and you look and
you look and you cant believe it; there are ordinary women
and then there is something else that wants to make you
tear up paintings and break albums of Beethoven
across the back of the john; anyhow, the season
was dragging and the big boys were getting busted,
all the non-pros, the producers, the cameraman,
the pushers of Mary, the fur salesman, the owners
themselves, and Saint Louie was running this day:
a sidewheeler that broke when he got in close;
he ran with his head down and was mean and ugly
and 35 to 1, and I put a ten down on him.
the driver broke him wide
took him out by the fence where hed be alone
even if he had to travel four times as far,
and thats the way he went it
all the way by the outer fence
traveling two miles in one
and he won like he was mad as hell
and he wasnt even tired,
and the biggest blonde of all
all ass and breast, hardly anything else
went to the payoff window with me.
that night I couldnt destroy her
although the springs shot sparks
and they pounded on the walls.
later she sat there in her slip
drinking Old Grandad
and she said
whats a guy like you doing
living in a dump like this?
and I said
Im a poet
and she threw back her beautiful head and laughed.
you? you . . . a poet?
I guess youre right, I said, I guess youre right.
but still she looked good to me, she still looked good,
and all thanks to an ugly horse
at the racetrack any day half drunk
betting quarters, sidewheelers and straight thoroughs,
but let me tell you, there are some women there
who go where the money goes, and sometimes when you
look at these whores these onehundreddollar whores
you wonder sometimes if nature isnt playing a joke
dealing out so much breast and ass and the way
its all hung together, you look and you look and
you look and you cant believe it; there are ordinary women
and then there is something else that wants to make you
tear up paintings and break albums of Beethoven
across the back of the john; anyhow, the season
was dragging and the big boys were getting busted,
all the non-pros, the producers, the cameraman,
the pushers of Mary, the fur salesman, the owners
themselves, and Saint Louie was running this day:
a sidewheeler that broke when he got in close;
he ran with his head down and was mean and ugly
and 35 to 1, and I put a ten down on him.
the driver broke him wide
took him out by the fence where hed be alone
even if he had to travel four times as far,
and thats the way he went it
all the way by the outer fence
traveling two miles in one
and he won like he was mad as hell
and he wasnt even tired,
and the biggest blonde of all
all ass and breast, hardly anything else
went to the payoff window with me.
that night I couldnt destroy her
although the springs shot sparks
and they pounded on the walls.
later she sat there in her slip
drinking Old Grandad
and she said
whats a guy like you doing
living in a dump like this?
and I said
Im a poet
and she threw back her beautiful head and laughed.
you? you . . . a poet?
I guess youre right, I said, I guess youre right.
but still she looked good to me, she still looked good,
and all thanks to an ugly horse
He may not be the prettiest in the book, but NEVER EVER judge on looks!?
