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Swallowed up in dark bluish thoughts:
Ruben just had a baby.
Now we just got on a bus for free;
Conductor points us to a back seat.

Who is Ruben?

Eyes on old Angela;
Still swings her waist like high school.
That hour-glass structure;
A testimony of her faithful fight against years.

Ruben is dead to me right now!

She sits like she teasing;
Legs a little widened,
Her skirt deflecting up a little;
As if I prompted it.

Ruben’s baby shouldn’t see this!

She looks at me invitingly;
Talkative bright white eyes.
I caress those wrinkled thighs
And finger her like a witness.

She screams, “Ryan!”
I look her in askance.
“Ryan; Ruben’s baby
Should be named Ryan!”

I reluctantly agree!

©Herbert Uba 2017

P.S. I have decided to make Fantasy Friday a series of about 20 poems using miscellaneous ego states. To up things a notch or two, I might do some prominent personalities’ editions.This is just the third one, by the way; find the first two down there, somewhere. If you have an opinion on this, I’m such a sucker for sucker for suggestions.



So far in the series,

1. Fantasy Friday.

2. Fantasy Friday 2.0| Girl Edition.

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