Ackee Soup

By Giggles Anderson

Stuck in the car without a Samsung adapter,
or the will to remain trapped in a City,
overrun with lost tourists, on furlough
from debtor’s prison.
No escape.
Chevy can’t a Ford it.

Who is pissing on whose lease agreement now?

The creditors are still going directly to voicemail,
but the voicemail is sunning itself in the Keys.
Mojito is one hand.
Marinated cock in the other.
Arroz cons pollo and shows up without Black beans in tow.

Icy Jupina never tasted so good.

Roads slow as dial-up.
We need Palin to sell our bridges to nowhere
and feed the formerly middle-class Children living beneath.

Is there abuse, abandonment or neglect,
where a single parent sells his car to pay
his daughter’s private school tuition?
For a few months of her life,
her mind matters more than her body
What a kind Father.

Ra smiles on his back as he walks five miles to work.

The paychecks are late, like those scary three months after Prom.
Empty tuna cans float beside low carb people packed in SoBe water.
Loan sharks smell Charlie’s blood from the budget cuts.
90 miles away–
No Brothers to the Rescue.

As residents drown in Olympic-sized pools of foreclosure notices,
Another immigrant reaches past the Master’s Card for a Visa.
Nine more Haitians drown– drinking the salty tears of the Atlantic.
All the cherry Lifesavers, stolen by the Developers.

The dog ate my stimulus check.