Mavis was a party girl.

She drank, she smoked, she sweared.

She slept  with every boy in town,

not a single soul was spared.


Mavis and Duane were parking one night,

coitus was certain, penetration no doubt.

Duane had neglected to bring a condom.

He said “Don’t worry Baby, I’ll pull out.”


Duane and Mavis were married,

in six months came little Duane.

Five years later came another boy,

Mavis’s heart was riven in twain.


The boys grew up, Duane got fat,

and Mavis hit the bottle with a fury.

She drank herself into a stupor.

She started to shake, her vision got blurry.


But Mavis loved to gossip,

she loved to dish the dirt,

she loved to transmit information.

Especially tid-bits that really hurt.


Mavis knew all the town’s black past.

She delved into the deepest dish.

She knew who slept with who, and how.

Yet still, she habored one wish.


Mavis was never big on books,

T.V. Guide comprised the bulk of her knowledge.

Yet late at night when she was drunk,

she dreamed that she had gone to college.


She dreamed that she had a real job,

an interesting life  that she cared about.

A husband who could still get it up.

She wanted to stand on her rooftop and shout:


Listen to me, distant stars!

I have two bright eyes, I can still see.

I have a heart and a soul and a brain.

If there is a God — Come save me!


There was no sound, except

the neighbor’s little yappy dog.

The stars began to fade away,

and Mavis collapsed in a fog.


For one second before she blacked out,

she saw a tiny glimmer of truth,

she felt the longing she’d felt as a girl.

She knew the joy she knew as a youth,


She saw herself young and beautiful.

She saw herself so long ago.

And then she slipped, and fell off the roof,

and broke her neck on the driveway below.




~ by tjeffcarey on February 3, 2012.

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