another midnight

(not exactly hip)

There aren't enough hours at the end of the day; there is little too much loveliness in her way; her aura, cylindrical, oveny, cherubic and comely. I was the one humper riding on this dromedary farm, broader than a firetruck when I pulled the alarm. But drooling police dogs can't sniff me out, because I’ve got political patronage clout. Jackass jackdaws and jackaninny scofflaws, telling tales at the ale barn, half-past eleven, sipping on happy-hour straws in every seventh heaven. The sour-milk mouths, the lemonade droughts; I call you on a payphone but I never ask you out; instead we sit alone on Saturdays and scrub our tile grout... I had a Chinese ex-girlfriend, I think her name was Meryl; it didn't end well--but after the scarring, all the swearing and menacing hind-leg rearing, the emotional carousel, diary entries, pathetic logs, those narrow-minded dogs need not drag me, clinging and kicking, from the bottom of the barrel, cuz I'm already there on the stairwell, kissing you goodbye and wishing you fare well.

(I have a tendency to overthink, I have a tendency to pout. I make my offering in silence; I wish that I could shout.)