Single moms go trotting around on SATURDAY NIGHT at the LAUNDRY …
They beg for quarters from the old bachelors who’s hooker wives dumped them.
And the baby?
The baby is left in the car, as the MOM goes into the bar to get drunk and hook up with a tattooed biker named Kyle.
A lot of men, myself included, felt like cash machines when we were married …
Did we marry the wrong woman?
I DUNNO SHIT HEAD – did you have sex with the wrong man?
Did some GOOD LAY leave a slug in your belly?
Was he really a “nice guy” who only beat you sometimes … but he had a “good job”, amirite?
Seems like everyone, myself included, is getting what they deserve.
A SINGLE MOM is a cave-maiden. She sells castor oil soap and varmint sweat while her kids walk the streets tossing bricks off the overpass.
A single mom spends her day watching JERRY, as she eats marshmallow spread and frunctulates her boovula. She has no guile, only a meth smile.
Her TARGEN DUGG fuel KING uses her as a mechanic’s rag, and when he’s done she’s none the wiser … only a case of the crabs as remembrance.
Single moms know how to party …
A single mom never loses, because she never risks anything worth measuring – her cargo shock container paradise is covered in skittles mold and American cheese.
Her peanut butter brood lurks outside the abandoned lot, never knowing when their next meal is coming, always RED EYED and hazy. They know mom’s just “tired” and “needs a break” …
They know RAMEN PIZZA is for dinner …
Single moms can COOK.
A SINGLE MOM is the WASTREL, the viggis-banshee. She yells the name of her lover, her donor, as she bangs the landlord to pay rent. She hearkens after the FIST, but claims to her support group she “just wants a nice guy”.
Single moms tramp about after midnight in SCOMPTON, sometimes with their kids in tow …
She’ll sell slug-flesh to the Jesuits and forget all this pain in the confessional, as nasty Roman priests whisper dirty words in her ears …
A single mom is a stop sign made out of jello.
A single mom is a HERO … to her dealer.
She gets discount on TRANQ and ROCK and her teeth are ground down to nothing …
She breastfeeds her newborn, feeding her the same pain that she was fed – a cocktail of low expecations, poverty, neglect and abuse. From her tit comes all the pain, from her is delivered a soul knife.
A single mom speaks LOUDLY of her SISTERHOOD, as she mocks her sisters wailing in the streets. She is SO HUGE in her matriarchy, as long as CHUCK is working checkout, as long as the OLD ENGLISH 800 is on sale.
Single moms like to smoke cheap cigars.
A single mom drags the TEMPTRESS FORCE, digging graves near the abandoned library. She confides in street-demons and makes pacts with the Devil’s hairdresser. Her walls are made of flesh and steel, her body grows tired from the ageless theft.
A single mom can’t STOP the fires, and doesn’t want to – no more than she wants to give up her pipe. She’ll attend all her meetings, she’ll do the SERENITY PRAYER, but at 2 AM when her kids are asleep, she slips out back to pull on the meth pipe with LARRY, the building janitor, and plumber … he’ll give her a rock or two.
After the MOON DISAPPEARS, the worry lines turn to wrinkles, a single mom sits silently in her room …
Somewhere in this world of discarded humans.
Rocking on her chair.
Muttering phrases of “could have been” …
Knowing she will never see her children again before she dies.
For in her love were lies.
And in her soul is nothing.
