Nudges

Here’s a theory. Lovers all along.
Decades of ruse. For no reason.
Other than to abuse and take.
Chums in the very best of ways.

Another theory. Desires hidden.
Burst forth and free with nudges
here and there. Both comfortable
with the conduit begin skewered.
Guiding the energy.

Third. Maybe things got
boring, regular old blow jobs just
didn't cut it. Pussy wasn't enough.
Passing out and waking frisky.
Your boy with his penchant for
guns and insults.
Your girl with the night job and
bald spots from worry.

The firemen, preachers, and editors.
Their "wives." Critical women with
tacked on egos and private education.
Cocks in mouths and talks of impossible
monogamy. Drinking to excess and falling
on their glued-on faces. Listening
to the privileged fuck was the only respite.

Rhythm-less and violent.
Classless and shallow, shadowboxing
the inevitable. Yoga pose and mediate
to the next several dollar bills. Build
the body for commerce; sell souls for
kitchen, beds, bath, wainscot, and bay windows.

While their men hunt and read bibles,
jacking off to other bears connected
on cell phones. Or try to forget about
the crimes. Not with guilt but with fear
of being held accountable and having to pay
dues.

Everybody hustling knows there's no
such thing as karma until vengeance gets
the balls rolling. We're all just trying
to get or remain even.