Phil’s in Nam.
Not Nancy.
Not Ziggy.
Not me.
Why? Anatomy?
Ejaculator versus baby maker?
Does that make him expendable?
Who hasn’t said,
I wish he was dead.
I’m mad enough to kill.
If words were bullets
he’d be pushing up daisies.
I scream that and more about
The-Dirty-Rotten-Two-Timer.
Bang. Bang. He’s history.
If thoughts are things
a murderer resides in my head.