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the milkman and the bill collector


Canofceleri

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the milkman every wednesday morning.

he's a beautiful man with his

eight, half-inch-thick, perfect jars--

i see my smiling eyes in the reflective glass

and all the glorious white calcium at once.

i kiss him. i love him. i wish only to be in his presence.

for what is two dimes for all this milk?

what a generous bringer of life,

all in his bottles.

 

the bill collector beckons me with his

startling ringing and his frightening tone.

trained to intimidate, he threatens me.

"fuck you and your voodoo!" i wanted to yell,

but i hadn't the nerve. instead i offered,

"next time" meakly and cursed him later.

what an inconsiderate prick

with his calls at all ungodly hours.

 

but once the bill collector started bringing the milk

and the milkman came for his due,

i turned on one the other.

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Pretty good, but I enjoy the Dysfunktionals better.

icon14.gif

Well... apples and oranges, my friend.

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Pretty good, but I enjoy the Dysfunktionals better.

icon14.gif

Well... apples and oranges, my friend.

Indeed. You're an awesome writer, though. Keep the great work up.

kdr9l4.png

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