Monday, February 22, 2016
Often At Debate
-Well I’m just EXHAUSTED!
-Whatever for? Did you actually DO anything?
-Played tennis early on.
-That should have worn off by now. Recovery Phase.
-You think?
-Who won?
-The four of us just ass around.
-Then? Let me guess, boutique-ing!
-I’ll kill if I don’t get a pair of Maxie Prentisses.
-Aren’t those just painted army boots?
-Not JUST! The Earth and Moon and Stars!
-Whatever floats your boat.
-Mine is sinking!
-Bear up! Somewhere at this moment a person
your age is going off to be killed in a war.
-Well that’s horrible!
-Our rare agreement.
-You don’t count.
-And YOU were once called a Bright Young Thing! In F Scott Fitzgerald novels.
-That’s ancient history, and you’re ancienter!
-Making up words?
-You just stay with the old ones! And then die.
-This conversation is for the ages. And the gods!
-They’re dead too.
-Too bad! They’d all be clomping around in
Maxie Prentisses!
Labels: boutique, Bright Young Thing, cultural history, culture, F Scott Fitzgerald, fashion, generation gap, gods, shoes, tennis
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Not Quite
Fellow tennis players labeled him
Capsy, since he always wore
a Royals cap while playing.
Backwards on cloudy days.
After, he entertained a table detailing
encounters with his sexual objects.
Alternately male, female.
His AC/DC rendered him very
nearly doubly interesting.
But not quite.
Labels: AC-DC, AC/DC, hetero, homo, Royals, sex, tennis
