Dear Mr. Stein,
I am a poet.
Did you know it?
Now you do.
I had a bad thing happen,
And then another.
There were two…
…Terrible incidents that happened.
On a day last week.
I will need your help.
First, I was on Yelp,
Looking for a place to eat dog.
Not the hot kind.
Not pork.
Like a hog.
I try many foods and some others,
I am an Elite Yelper.
And a good mother.
Who wanted to try dog.
A good boy.
A fancy dachshund.
A poodle, a toy.
I called Italian Sam’s Elite meats,
and requested a meeting,
Sam invited me over with a delightful greeting.
A small whisper,
a lustful kiss,
a good mother’s wish.
Sam brought me to his back room,
where he keeps the special treat,
He told me to be quiet, to be discreet.
Sam rubbed his belly,
thick follicles of hair danced,
my taste buds romanced.
Then he produced his dog,
A thick one,
Its body rotund like a log.
I asked for a nip and
He sliced a thin strip.
This dog’s name was once Pip.
But now it had no skin.
No collar.
No kin.
Sam dipped the bite in ranch,
My favorite condiment,
Then he slipped on a condom.
As the meat melted in my mouth,
Sam asked me the question:
Would you like to go back to my apartment for dessert?
I politely declined.
Sam didn’t whine.
A gentleman he was.
A gentleman, he wasn’t.
He walked me to the door,
but before I could depart,
I felt a pain in my heart.
I clutched my breast,
My tender balloons,
I fell to the floor and writhed like a baboon.
From my eyes there came many tears,
Turns out the floor hadn’t been cleaned in years.
Germs. Typhoid. Tetanus and cream.
These are the nightmares that invade my dreams.
I screamed like a banshee,
and cursed like a sailor,
Words my father would never have said during his tenure at Baylor.
Sam dragged me for his car,
a blue Mazda Miata .
He tried to serve me an ensalada.
I said no.
As he drove to the hospital,
A place where doctors play,
A place where doctors should not have final say.
Because they believed me to be cursed.
They wanted to send me to the hearse.
They shocked my chest with an EKG.
Shock shock shock shank shark shart shimmy Jimmy Johns.
Spicy East Coast Italian Sandwich.
Is what I saw,
In my mind's eye,
As I closed my fleshy eyes to die.
Then I woke,
Two days later,
My chesticles charred like the skin of an alligator.
This is a travesty, Mr. Stein,
I want you to help me sue,
To make a few million dimes.
First, let’s sue Sam!
The dog he fed me was actually ham!
He threatened me with an assault,
None of it was my fault.
He didn’t clean his floors,
Dirtier than a thousand whores.
Next, let’s sue the hospital.
Dr. Feldman is not smarter than a popsicle.
Burning my chest with his little EKG.
He must think I am some kind of tree.
Please respond fast.
I don’t know if I’ll last.
Thank you, Mr. Stein.
Work fast with your time.
Go now.
Go now.
Go now.
Go now.
Go now.
Go.
With love in my scarred heart,
Beth Anne Scrubs