The Fat Man

The fat man hums blues tunes
In the old house his parents left him.
Fat nosey bastard has the mouth of ten house wives.
How many times has he gotten me busted?
Recorded my girlfriend sneaking me in-
He says she wasn’t my type anyway.
Neighborhood teens like the joker from every
Deck of cards…Plotting.
May be fun to get him laid, or not.
Lets pay Hustle Mary, find her on the corner of Main.
Forged love letter under the door gives hope to a desperate man.
He cleans up nicely on his way to the rendezvous point.
He shuffles on like a ballroom waltz, and humming.
Brings back his prize, as shy as a child.
Inside they drink, Hustle Mary so aggressive,
Paws at his polyester slacks.
She undresses the fat man, lights turn off.
The fat man awes at every curve of his petite guest.
He slowly touches her entire body and stops in disgust.
Such a plump penis in his hand.
He lifts up in a rage.
Shouting was heard, a smack, and then a bump.
Us spying jokers turn flush as we witness the
Anger of a lonely fat man, choking the life out of what
Should have been his cherry picker.
We all scatter for help, sending lawmen
To kick down the door of the innocent mark.
They find him sitting on his couch humming blues tunes,
And a lifeless body with a bloody detached penis in hand.
Fat man jumps up and charges, disappearing in a cloud of gun smoke.
There on the floor of the old house, his body shakes violently.
He looks right at me with a numb face as he gurgles
“She wasn‘t my type.”