How It Is Miss Animal Even Got Herself to Philly, A Real Life Tall Tale: Part One
My stay in the Land of Death seemed an eternity
My reason for being there?
I’m still trying to figure that one out
But a temporal end, at least, begot my restoration
And when I returned, at the start of this very moment,
I found myself in chains,
Covered in grease and gravy
Beaten and bludgeoned by large, heavy purses
Weighted with stolen sugar caddies,
Wielded by wrinkled, sour prunes
Staining my psyche, along with the coffee mugs
With lashings of everlasting suffering
Navigated by aid of their bright old lady lips
From the deepest trenches of the wild seas of Hell
“I said my bacon ‘sposed be cooked
Extra crisp on one side, limp on the other!
My eggs ‘sposed be scrambled over-easy-well
With the whites poached and the yolks suspended in mid air!
What about that did you not understand?!
I’ll eat it this putrid slop
But only because I’m a Good Christian Woman!
After I’ve licked the plate clean
We ‘gon hafta fix this unjust bill!!”
This chorus sung in perpetual round
While lustful husbands, though mute
Kept time with the shakers I obediently filled
Cascading endless waves of salt
Directly onto my wounds
Looking straight through the worn fabric of my uniform
At my helpless vulnerability
As cyclops with hate-ray vision
How on earth had this pickle come to pass?
Again, I have no idea
Until this moment
I had paid little to no attentive interest
Towards my incoming balance of the present
That is until the endless,
Or rather purposeless Void
Kicked me out
Sick of me guzzling down all its bourbon
Sick of me smoking all the good weed…
Copyright Keli Birchfield 2015