I
was a little boy,
tad
hillbilly son,
patterned
then in
present
tense,
hardly
old enough
tall
enough to work
nor
notice if I had pubic hair-
large
or small endowment
growing
up self-conscious
about
short comings
narrow
chest.
Just
a teen aged nighttime boy
looking
4 a part-time hook up-
little
girl play, with a five-card stud.
Preacher
daddy raised me,
back-seat
Christian boy
low
on faith high on doobie
rolled
cigarettes.
I
took my 1st job, pancake flipper
@
Heart Attack–Greasy Grill, 24-7
pocket
coins 4 tips, a few greasy dollars,
pancake
short stack, secret menu was that
boss’s
daughter, blood on hands,
my
bun busted now stale, stained, & baked.
Eliminate
lines unessential:
waitress
injected me some spice
old
time recipe.
