Chantelle


Bobby
was pretty, and smooth, his
hair a (fist-
full) of
rings.

Wet. Maybe

he painted
his lips.

Chantelle
hung

on Bobby's (pretty)
breath. Painted
her lips (like Bobby)
painted her
face (for Bobby) painted
her eyes (Bobby)
blue like the sky like the
(Bobby's eyes were) blue.

Chantelle
was the one
who begged for
smokes. She had

rivers
of spit (look, her
mouth won't even
close) (look) her

eyes (a river)
(one was
green) hung
halfway down her
face (in-
side her [black and nine-months
swollen] (clumsy) fallen
lids, you could see
the little red veins, the

(Bobby)
blood) her

face looked
like (Bobby), like
someone had squeezed it
from a tube.

Chantelle
begged for smokes
and
change. Bobby

sat on the edge of a
bench (that

bulge

in his black leather pants), (that
million-dollar)
smacked

Chantelle
upside her

(stupid, stupid)

stupid (Chantelle) (goddam)
head
when Chantelle slobbered
(her Bobby I could'nt)
(Bobby I Bobby) on the
(slick black)
pants.



JDP 2002/11





Copyright John D Porter © 2002



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