If my ex-fiancé did not volunteer
To run the kissing booth
I might not need to use the “ex-“
I might have one more tooth
Before all this, we had loved fall fairs
I mean real love, as in Cupid
We ate and spent like lovers do
We wore our “I’m with Stupid”s
Behind my back she signed a sheet
That volunteered her kiss
My love for sale, my girl for rent
My vivisectioned bliss
The asking price—one ninety-five
Two even, with state tax
I read this from a flyer posted
To a telephone pole with tacks
The morning of, I stayed in bed
My hate a thick, black fog
My future wife was passing spit
With any solvent dog
Such money could buy a meal-deal lunch
A string of wholesome bowling!
But no, this money was buying my girl
Her lips all chapped and swollen
Oh, the kisses I envisioned!
The cash-bulge in her smock!
Fast Cash could get them twenty for
Each grunt that worked the docks
She came home late that very night
Two dollars was her fee!
She wept and tried to talk to me
I stared at the TV
“Listen to me,” she pleaded
Pouting her traitorous lips
“I really need your comfort now”
And sadly bumped her hips
What I heard then quite changed my life
My jealousy undone
I laughed and cried and laughed again
She hadn’t sold a one.