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Dec 06, 2008 02:47

Without a second glance

She spun around
Kicking up dust
Stomping the ground
She must

Have been out of her mind

With a blade in hand
Drunkenly shaking
Her slicing was grand
There was no mistaking

He wouldn’t survive

When his body stopped moving
She started to laugh
Her mood was improving
She’d cut him in half

And had done a marvelous job

She put coins on his eyes
And a cross in his maw
Put her hands on her thighs
“Now where is that saw?”

She said.

“I could bag him with ease
If he were in smaller pieces.
I can saw as I please
‘til his piece-size decreases.”

Having made up her mind on how to dispose of Henry’s body, Veronica sat heavily on a stack of tires in the garage. Henry lay face down in a dark shiny pool of blood, illuminated only by a single bare bulb that swung slowly above. Tracey Ullman was playing on the radio…

They don’t know ‘bout us And they’ve never heard of love

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tracey ullman, they don't know, poem

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