A Real Fucker

July 20, 2009

So there was this guy I knew

Tom was a pretty good guy
At least to me
But to the ladies
He was a real fucker

He had this idea
That the whole world
Sorta turned
Around his very large head

Tom drove a chevy
He rarely washed it
It smelled of smoke
Pall Malls, non-filtered

He went to the same haunts
Most every night
Gene's Place over on 7th
And the Mid-Town Pool Hall

Tom was pretty good at pool
Better than me
Until after about 10:00 that is
When the Gordon's would kick in

I never really understood
Why otherwise smart women
Capable and clever
Would fall for his shit

But they did
Over and over
And he'd take them to his ratty appartment
On 9th Street, above the liquor store
And he'd fuck em

And most every morning
Around 11:30
He'd call me
Friendly and cordial
And tell me of his adventures

I knew he exagerated
But I also knew his stories were rooted in truth
Most every night
He'd find a new mark
Take her home, and fuck her

Tom was nice guy
But he a real fucker

I'm glad I knew him
It was fun to live vicariously
But even better
To learn by his example
Not to be a fucker

Type: Poetry

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