Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

where my palm is cut

out shopping in a part of cincinnati
that doesn’t know it’s not san francisco

i saw one of those old fashioned pens today
the kind that have a moving picture
inside the clear tip

a woman’s bikini top rolling away
revealing her tits
when turned upside down

a navy man’s uniform pants

a far off sailing ship

a sunrise over the bay

this one was different

unlike any i’d ever seen

it danced upon my receipt
tallying my total
in the hand of the shop keep

it was two women driving in the desert
in a floating red convertible
past a billboard sign that read

you be thelma
i’ll be louise

i missed you to the bone
sister mine
where my palm is cut

we share the same blood
you and me

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