Have you ever been to the airport and maybe saw a passionate couple in the throws of some juicy argument? While the voyeur in you wants to say "To Hell with the flight," you fake tying your shoe so you can see what these two wackjobs are screaming about... This prose poem is one of those instances.
SHE DIDN’T GET ME
She said why aren’t you coming?
I told her that we’d be a mistake,
a nightmare in fact.
Pleading in the airport, at the gate,
she clutched and clutched;
weeping and kept on repeating
that she didn’t understand.
I felt bad, even worse than
that, but shit, what was there
not to understand? I just wasn’t
feeling this broad anymore. And you know
what, it wasn’t even about sex. Shit, that’s
thing on my mind at that point. She didn’t
get me and brother, I mean it
when I say to you that if they don’t get you,
Run fucking far away. Don’t even tie your shoes.
I had to find out the hard way.
A chick that doesn’t get
you is about as dangerous as someone
you loathe who DOES. Take it from me, no
matter how blue her eyes gleam or perfect her
complexion is, beauty fades. Picture yourself
talking to this cupcake in 20 or 30
when she looks like busted suitcase. Ask
her questions now that will be
And then think of me, here today,
at the airport, hoping to escape.