Side B - Song 13
13) 4 Square
& then I waltz over to Kristi Blackberry’s house. No more May-Lee-circus ‘cuz it’s great that fire started, but it’s even greater that I put it out & Mary Beth is gone so who ya gonna tell, Miss May-Lee-secrete? Dead Mario? Maybe I oughta tell on you! Decide that Kristi-pure-angel is the only Belize girlfriend I desire. If she’ll even have me, that is...
Kristi Blackberry Burns is Gorilla Burns’ youngest sister & quite surprised to see me. When I smilingly say, “Strong for you, Blackberry,” she giggles & tosses the book in her hand onto the couch. Some Russian guy wrote it, Fido-Dufusesky-Whatever. She leads me hand-in-hand into her bedroom, ignites a dance-hall-music disc, big grin, “Mistah Fuckah, me no can believe you here.”
“Sweet Kristi, Fuckah haul for you.”
There’s a rainbow connecting lit-up faces. Her swaying body is a luscious bomb aimed right at me.
& I don’t know shit about truth anymore, but our future lies in who we let lie in our bed. She’s slithering along my fingers while hers are combing my hair.
“Me so lucky, Mistah Fuckah. Me so lucky. Me love you, Fuckah. Kristi love you long time. Lucky, Kristi. Lucky, silly-Kristi. Lucky lady.” Beauty that remains humble can love more than just itself.
“O, tasty lover,” I sigh, “I worship you, worship.” (& I also have kids I’m going to have to get back to as soon as I can force myself to abandon this.)
Kristi-shavie & I go on a nirvana experience everyday & I’m glad to go visit her mother & her aunties, love our trips to Belize Island, her teeny-weeny bikini lusciousness, her rose-petal mouth. We drink up ocean symphony, us the dancers, so content.
One day, I ask, “What kind of books are those ones on your bookshelf.”
“Novels. You want to read one?”
I chortle, say, “Kristi, North Dakota men don’t read any of that shit, just sports & ‘Playboy.’” I wonder how, in such pleasure, I will ever go back to being John-small-time-Midwest-sound-donkey, ever resume a normal, “yawn,” marriage. Hell, I’ll even start attending Mary-Beth-religion’s church in Middle of Nowhere County, North Dakota, where they’ll all be glad I am “home,” as long as I lie about what I did in Belize for the rest of my life, especially to my kids who will only be grossed out by the story, a story I can only tell in true fact on my death bed, not speaking any of it in Creole ‘cuz only Belizeans & I will understand it like that & if I die in North Dakota, the bison-heads there who hear me profess this tale will all call me, “Delirious.”
& I don’t know shit about last days, but May-Lee-why-you-no-love-me-&-F.M.-Mistah-Fuckah-need-your-pickny-always-hitting-on-me-constantly, will not stop coming over to my house...so much that I’ve quit going there, tell Gorilla B. I’m taking three weeks off, a vacation, then truck over to Kristi-charity’s & say, “We’re going to Cozumel, the coolest beach with the most intoxicating beach-goofies & we need to buy you a bunch of new topless bikinis so you can scare all the boys & be the sexiest babe there & you can buy new books & read them in tree-shade near whitie-Fuckah-sun-bathe & we’ll eat at restaurants & swim until we’re tired & live in a surf-side motel & whoopee as many times a day as we can & take boat rides & run the bars & party our silly, laughing asses completely off!”
“Oh, Mistah Fuckah, when?”
I say, “Now.”
Stunned for a few seconds, she rushes to pack.
Three weeks of Kristi-princess & Mistah-Fuckah-hard-the-whole-time. She can’t quit saying, “Strong for you,” & neither can I. & once this tremendous vacation is done, I’m back home less than an hour, & here’s May-Lee-I-just-never-quitty at the door, no knocking, just click, walk in, F.M.-rubber-bullet-eye behind her, both wearing virtually nothing, silk shorts, puny-expose-those titties-thread-woven-tops, high heels, & May-Lee-eager starts in, “Oh, Mistah Fuckah, missy-missy you...” & on & on & on, stripping me nude & stripping herself, F.M.-furrow-brow licking my balls, May-Lee-argument never ceasing, “You know you love we...you know you love F.M.-pee-pee...,” licking my growing shaft, both fussing & whimpering & grappling me, lick, lick, lick, & finally I’m up F.M.-rubber-150-lbs.-75-has-gotta-be-ass. Yeah...more time in her swimmy & there’s blessedly not enough room for both of us, May Lee clutching F.M.’s waist & holding her up off the ground.
We cannot help ourselves. We just cannot help ourselves. She’s right. & I don’t know shit about decisions, but I need to move in with Kristi-twin-tits & still keep some time open for F.M.-gravity-free-twinkIe-slice-clenched-jaw-broom-stick-rider, ‘cuz she comes so dramatically it’s never worth missing.
I tell May-Lee-schedule-less & F.M.-waterfall, they now have a place to live if they want it ‘cuz, “I’m in love with you, F.M. & I’m in love with you, May Lee & I’m still in love with Mary Beth. But I’m deep-deep in love with Kristi & I need to live with her, so you & F.M. take this place. I’ll come see ya every Sunday night (though Kristi tells me later to do it on Monday & Tuesday nights, too. Tells me she has to have some time alone or she’ll just die!). This place is free, ‘cuz it’s part of my pay & I’m not gonna need it anymore.”
I think May-Lee-trio will complain, but she’s thrilled to have a nice house to live in with F.M.-brawny-biceps-thick-legs-wavy-hair-bow-wrap & still get to ball Mistah Fuckah. She races to me, jumps, lands in my hands, celebrates, “Oh, dear Fuckah-spitty-fuck, I love F.M. & I love you.”
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