Day: September 7, 2024

Love songs blaring out of cars.
1957 Chevy bel airs with fins
And other flashy finned cars,
Prowling land sharks on tires,
Roaring and screeching rubber
Hot and smoking city streets,
Impressing gawking, teenage girls
Culminating in sweet, tender times.
Making out and petting in cars.
Romantic teenage wonderlands,
1950s cool summer nights.

Bob Boyd

At six-years-old
He hated his baby sister
He lost the attention
When she was born
She annoyed him
When she cried
And he was happy
When she died
Supposedly
Accidently
Smothered
To death by
A pet cat in her crib.

Bob Boyd

He was like her puppy.
She had him on a leash.
She issued him orders.
He obeyed them.
She was so beautiful
He couldn’t risk losing her.
So he did what she said,
Even though he knew he’d become
Subservient and emasculated
And no longer a real man.
He often wished he had the guts
To stand up to her and say no.
But she was too beautiful to defy.
So he kept being her puppy
Until she found a new pet.

Bob Boyd

Death has come for him.
He’s not scared.
He got too wasted.
He got too sick.
Drank too much.
Took too many drugs.
No family. No friends.
Nobody cares about him
No one is going to miss him.
Nobody knows his name.
He gasps his last breath
On that somber, November day,
Dead and homeless on a cold street.

Bob Boyd