by Dirty Pour on September 15, 2017 at 1:00 AM

DEVASTATION

“Guess what I did last weekend, Gurl!”  Well… I’ll… be… blessed… Didn’t we just get outta this mess???  Yet another hurricane and this time I’m deep up in it. Just how I likes it, just how it be, and just how I likes it to be up in me. Daily. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, this stormy weather. You can slap me silly and call me Heather. I’m your Tropical Recession. Take away your oppression. Making me your Sunday confession. I can teach you a GOOD lesson and leave a LONG lasting impression. Now, let’s keep them guessing…. Oh, and speaking of Hurricanes. Umm… hmm…. My ‘go to’ DRANK! Those do have me sucking without chucking. Down like something good I really should be spitting out of my mouth. My only quarrel about this season is that strong and forceful POWER could shake my walls apart. otherwise life has been really, really, good to me. People on the other hand have not. Like my roommate who threw me OUT.

Yeeeeeaaaouuusssss! Directly after Irma had come through. I was treated like something taboo. I had no idea what to do. I was tossed away like a Trump employee. Wait. How could this be? I’m Dirty Pour, the late night whore. I’m your mi amore. An easy DL score. Always wanting more. Electric lines were down. Bridges were closed. Roads were underwater. Condoms were scarce. DEVASTATION. Cold. Numb. Little sensation. I was locked out with no hesitation. Loss of words. Dignity. No clean panties. Therefore I walked to an area as I waited for a ride. My cell phone battery, very low. I took a full breath of air. Not fresh. Please, who are we fooling. No one. I kept my eyes wide open remembering I had just been told about individuals were masking as help to rob and assault.

As I stood there like a two bit trick. Tossed away, shit got thick. BITTER! Some trollop passing by asked if I was ok. I was polite responding with yes. She looked like she had just crawled outta da sewer that I was standing directly over. I wanted to ask her if SHE was ok. However, she may be carrying a weapon. Or a venereal. Or both. Either way she ain’t on on my Pussy Pour Payroll. PLEASE just press. Fievel go West. She asked again. I explained I was just waiting on my peeps. She responded with I’d be arrested if I didn’t get off these streets. as if I was working the corner. I’m thinking, “BITCH I’m a high class hoe!” Then I started fantasizing about men and uniforms. As well as men without uniforms. Come to think of it, she don’t know me or what I’m capable of.

I’d take blowing Super Miracle Bubbles over dealing with this Street Urchin ANY Irma. As far as any cops coming. They’d protect me from the likes of THAT. Trussss…! Besides I’d handle law reinforcements accordingly. I know I’m continually on demand. Even if you’re not a fan. I’d pull my hoodie down so the officer could see my lip gloss do be popping while he’ll be chomping. Extra! Extra! Come weep all about it! Everyone is supposed to be indoors and off of the roads. But Dirty Pour don’t do curfews. Hate to be “bringing you da blues”. Besides these misty corner street lights do wonders for my natural inner glow. Rain. Sleet. Drought. Snow. Either way I’ll still deliver you a show 1-2-3-4…. I’m your shaken, stirred, Dirty Pour. Pay your tab if you want more.

-Dirty Pour