She got the Bug
Bugs me
I shrug everytime she tries to
Hug me
cuz she bugs me
she sends good luck totems
writes notes on photos
composes poems about roses
and laughs thru her noses
and
she bugs me
cuz she thinks she knows me
but i’m only
posin
to please her
so i thank her
for totems and photos and poems and roses
For buggin me, in fact.
In fact, in deed
it’s remarkable how posin to please
draws those who bug me
like the boy who reminded
me
of cement flavored chewing gum
he bugged me
he wrote me
he phone me
he practically wanted to
bone me
Intellectually.
Artistically, at least
he mighta though he owned me
but he got the posin me,
too.
Cuz I wuz untrue
everytime i spoke and laughed at jokes he told me
not FUNNY!
and he bugged me
they bug me still
inside my dome, man
managed to bug me
inside my fuckin home, man
like, where I live.
and the things they gave me
continue to give me – Bugs
clutterin my walls – Bugs
rubbin my head
as if I shaved it just for them.
Last night I dreamed I said,
“QUIT BUGGIN ME!”
stop rubbin me
stubbornly
i don’t need your lucky strings of beads
and sentimental odds and ends
I don’t get bugged by other friends
so why
should I waste my time and tend
to your
trying your
crying your
dying
dreams i didn’t inspire
why must you cling to me
I’m bored of your company
you’re buggin me
and i made
the mistake of similin too fuckin much
and now I’m a fake and
that
bugs me twice as much
as you
“keepin in touch.”
and i dreamed they sighed and said,
“you’re right,
you been too polite
and in sight of that fact
I’m turning my back
and leaving you in peace.”

“But before I’m done,
Can I get a hug?”

I woke up.

Bugged.