The Whatever Principles

by Colin James

I held the wholesome bitch in my arms.
This was no prelude to Seventh Day Adventism
nor passing the time lazily on
entertainment savvy quiz shows.
We cuddled like wallpaper.
The rent was due every Thursday.
A motorcyclist enthusiast downstairs
proceeded to engage his throttle.
The fumes were more than inconvenient.
I left a note for his consideration, wandered
several blocks to work up some courage.
When I returned, the apartment was empty
of all its fundamental occupants.
My mother picked me up in a blue Blazer.
Her garage still contained a couch
that was damp but surprisingly comfortable.

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