Breakfast at the Holiday Inn

Illustrated Poetry, My Writing

A short curvy waitress,
whose legs open a little too casually.
Blonde hair tied in an efficient ponytail;
her true self only revealed
by the black roots at her scalp. 

White Goods

Illustrated Poetry, My Writing
vb004-044

Oh my stomach’s churning.
Rather full you see.
In fact stuffed.
Gurgle, glug, hiss.
It makes the most embarrassing sounds.

It’s her fault of course.
Fed me too much again.
All sorts. Just mixed together.
No respect for my system.
Round and round it goes like a wad of wet clothes.

She laughs
and presses herself against me
as I vibrate
across the kitchen.
Trying to shake things loose.