After God 7, by Tim Peeler

Tim Peeler

They sat in his dorm room, a
Greasy stinking biker, and
The girl he’d been seeing,
Smoking his dope, drinking the
Last of his beer, and he kept
Wondering, why did she bring
Him here, what motivation,
Till finally, with the dope
Gone, frig emptied, the biker
Leaned toward him, and muttered,
Don’t fuck with my whores, you hear,
And he answered, of course not,
And watched the cute little red
Headed girl, to see if
There was some indication
That she liked being this guy’s
Whore, and she had a possum
Grin, behind her cigarette.

Thirty-three years later, he
Tries to recall either of
Their names, wishing the moment
Back, that he could have stopped it,
Thrown the first surprise punch, then
Taken the knifing, beating,
The gun shot, saved himself from
A whole world of bullshit.

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