It’s just not raining cats & dogs
outside, they’re being
vomited from the sky.
While inside we form an
obtuse triangle w/ our
mismatched chairs–
me, my dad, & my grandma.
We’re waiting around
for the call about Ethel–
my step-grandmother–
she’s dying from
Pancreatic cancer.
So, somehow, in a Bermuda triangle
sorta way, we end-up
talking about my ol man’s
adolescent girlfriends:
“Do you remember Becky, mom?
The redhead?”
“Did she have gonorrhea?”
“No, that was Cindy.
Becky told me, loudly mind you,
in Angelo’s Bowling Alley, that:
‘You didn’t get the Clap from me!!’
I’m sure she didn’t get any
numbers that night.”
“Probably not.”
“Well, anyway, when I was buying
my 4th prescription of Clap ointment,
the Pharmacist, Old Man Sanders, said:
‘Bob, you know you have to keep increasing
the potency of ointment for each
of dose of the Clap you get.
Maybe it’s time you settled down,
cause you’ve reached
the limit.”
“So, you reached your expiration-date
with the Clap.”
“Yeh, soon after that,
I met your mom.”