That Old Rugged Cross

It hangs loosely around your neck

Folded hands bobbing up and down

Ulterior motives on a grander scale

the begging, the whispering, the pleading, the promising

Aren’t you tired to drive all that way?

The country rock god throws his pick into the crowd

mullet and all

It’s too late, my panties are already in the air

flung like oh so many hopes and dreams

and fret over lost virginity and miraculous conceptions

“You are NOT the father”, the crowd exclaims HALLELUJAH!

I’m too tired to fawn over this one

Even the fucking dog dies

©Ramon Sturdivant

 

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