Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 10/18/19

Big Girls Cry

She steals the souls of babies
cooing cherry blossom bouquets

“Thick as thieves” she shouts
an observation from an orbited loon
beamed back to her one-eyed mind

Molehill to molehill
she’s an eighteen-wheeler on a
convoy coast to coast
hauling iPads and iPhones

See her when she smiles?
That’s when she’s happy
See her when she frowns?
That’s when she’s sad
Every emotion oozes from
cracks of broken nostalgia

She melts in your mouth, baby

Beam her up, Scotty

Her pride is a force too big for this world
Daddy never loved her
Momma sniffs the green
grass on the other side
Now she can’t follow through
on a slow ball pitch

What’s that in your teeth, sister?
I chipped my piano keys on a D flat
No more music for me

I should’ve never gone to Vegas
Those marriages never last
No point of return
That’s why they end

The fountain of youth
is a pink flamingo house
Ponce De León used to live there
He runs a shrimp shack now

Cash only

Come early

Babies on tap

©G.W. Allison all rights reserved

G.W. Allison was born in Michigan, raised wherever the pursuit of happiness took his family, was a USN swabbie for four years, worked on a shrimp boat, quit college, slaved away in corporate America, was a rock-n-roll roadie, traveled the world with a camera on his shoulder, sold some writing, screeched into Hollywood with a horror script, and wrote two books. He’s a screenwriter, poet, and author of The Final Round and There is a Season.