Changing the world one spit ball at a time.

If you were to meet me today, I’d be running an errand

Shopping for groceries, picking up laundry

Driving a fairly plush sedan, dropping kids off to school and

say, get a manicure even

 But you did not meet me today

You didn’t ever get the idea that I am a poet

You met me when I was half drunk on local hooch

Slurring abuses at the sky for snowing too soon

And too much

You met me when I was threatening to rip apart your paintings

And break Beethoven’s albums across your back

I told you I could drag big boys across the hall and

punch them in the face.

I shot spit balls at a man zipping past in a plush sedan

You met me when I asked a fur sales man if his shag was for sale

I raced the rat chasing cheese with my last jug of hooch

And you asked

What’s a girl like you doing in a dump like this?

And I said

I am a Poet, a Wanderer, a Nun, a God

And you threw back your beautiful head full of hair and laughed

You? You... a Poet, a God, a Nun, a Wanderer?

Then I am Humphrey Bogart

I guess you’re right, I said, I guess you’re right

But you still look so good to me

And thanks to that randy God

Who wrote this poem.