Sympathy For Spastics

Bred & wed of ruddy, wretched men

I bet you’ve got it in for them

Their crass, sun-tanned,

uneducated hands

You’ve always found a place for them


This greedy grace that permeates girls my age

I’m not ashamed to say:

Even on their knees

It’s the sad, simple dignities

that charm the pants off me


Blue blood, well-hung

& just a touch too young

For all the gifts God’s blessed me with

She’s thick as shit

& pregnant with the myth

Of a noble proletariat


As you take to task

This great, guiltless gilded class…

Well please, don’t make me laugh

& bless these men of means

Whose key-bumps of ketamine

Still sweep you off your feet


As we have been so we will always be

& I gather what you think of me

So I won’t defend, nor condescend

Just know you’ve got my sympathy