Shiva

1 Feb

Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva,

you are so drunk

and sloppy,

and oh so thick.

I’m so afraid of how easy this appears to be.

 

Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva

you just my type

with those juicy hamhocks

and big bright headlights

and proportionate  caboose.

The blemish on the side of your face

under your nose tells me

that you can be had

but at what price?

Nothing is free in the Bay Area

especially time.

 

Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva,

are you always this fun? or is the alcohol

that is making you laugh at my joke

about the guy who sitting in the seat next to you

not knowing the difference between creepy and romantic

because he was European.

 

Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva

I’m loose and you’re loose

and we’re being so obvious right now that

the other passengers on the train are smirking

as you write your number on a piece of paper

before we reach the Shattuck stop.

 

Oh Shiva, Shiva, Shiva

I hated myself for months

for accidentally throwing that piece of paper

on the way over to my friend’s place.

It was late, and I was drunk and it would take me

days to even remember the brief encounter we had that night.

Which now with clarity, I can see

that it might have been the best possible outcome

for such drunken encounters.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

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