Brisk day. Winter is certainly coming to Roanoke. I zip up my coat as I accelerate my pace down Church Street. But it’s not too cold. I can still admire my profile as I pass the abandoned storefront’s window. Firm chin. Prominent nose. All good. New pants. Let’s see how they’re holding up. Nicely snug in the crotch. What the ffffffffffff …?
Where the hell is my ass? I used to have one. I remember it fondly. Many women, and even more men, commented on it favorably. It was firm and round and, dare I say, juicy. But where is it now?
As president of Pungent Sound Community Bank, I’m a man accustomed to acquiring things. Ties, shoes, automobiles, boats, homes, sexual partners, penicillin. The list goes on and on. But is this what I can expect as I approach my winter years? A gradual loss? Incremental divestments and shedding? Have I wasted my life on meaningless acquisitions that I will inevitably lose?
At least my mane remains full and majestic. I’m a Blue Ridge Mountain Lion. Let’s take a quick look. What the . . . what’s happening to my hairline? When did that start? Motherfffffff …….
Titmouse Beak, President of Pungent Sound Community Bank
Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry 