BOOK OF LOVE, MON JAN _ _, 07 By Chris Bodor If they had have told me about this chapter in the book of love, I would have never read the book, I would have never checked it out from the library I would have certainly chosen another novel. The first sixteen chapters were page turners, Filled with ups and downs, But this particular chapter, The no sex for a year chapter in the book of marriage. Masterbating and waiting Masterbate less often as each sexless month drags on thinking about going to therapy, And trying to be a better communicator Walking into walls Trying to get blood from a stone Adam Ant lyric plays over and over like a broken record Don’t drink Don’t smoke What do I do? What is particularly painful; about this chapter is the fact that people around us are splitting up. Ten year relationships over in an instant. He cheated on her during business trips and now he is living in another county for a month He doesn’t pull his wait in the marriage, because he doesn’t get a second job when he has the summers off Back to us, and the painful chapter: Beds to big with out you Why is the couch more comfortable than my evening embrass I get the feeling you can’t stand to look at my face I feel like a big fag A big old aging homo Mister masterbater Waiting for chapter sixteen to end Still married to my best friend
Love American style Peter Brady’s first kiss During this chapter I am waiting for fireworks while trying to light the fuse with a wet book of matches. PEANUT BUTTER POEM, TUE JAN _ _ , 2007 By Chris Bodor POEM ABOUT peanut butter and drinking and eating peanut butter everyday for lunch because it does not upset my tomach and paul’s alcoholic friend who always kept a jar of peanut butter in the glove box of his car. And drinking during lunch break and why Because baker guy walked out of store with beed and brown paper bag and walked around the convience store to drink and then opporate gas powered equipment a short time after SEEING THE CITY FROM THE BACK OF A TRASH TRUCK, WED (or MONDAY) JAN ___ , 2007 By Chris Bodor Poem about learning about a new job and a new city from the back of a trash truck …. Seeing ladies in nice swim suits … no bad looking woman because they are either tourists or rich people … a poem about how nice people are to the garbage people but some times you feel invisible … when you see a trashy looking woman you want to say “hey baby – I’d like to pick you up and throw you into the bake of the truck / hooper you nasty piece of trash” THU JAN ___ 2007
FRI JAN ___ 2007