Papa G And His Seven Chicks

that burly guy brushed his teeth at lunchtime
before hitting up Bee’s Diner and flex his left arm
so the 23 year old waitress could admire his muscles

I’d be walking with elephants at the same time,
wondering whether Papa G had climbed a pyramid at 3 am,
and coined some new Thai slang term for “hot chick”
but Papa G has tricks like no other,
he’d take thongs off with his teeth,
and unclasp bras and untie corsets with his eyes,
wedlock was a myth, if anything,
it was a key to wrong.
the diamonds injecting my finger weren’t really glowing anymore,
but he and his seven chicks did well as I wrote about sky funerals in Nepal,
and ate grapes with old Italian men
wherever Papa G was with his pecs,
hollowing dignity out of women, I couldn’t help but think of how
his touch on my skin used to physically hurt me

but Papa G has tricks like no other,
he’d take thongs off with his teeth,
and unclasp bras and untie corsets with his eyes,
wedlock was a myth, if anything,
it was a key to wrong.

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