The television is all Bob Sagat
and fat kids falling off seesaws,
and she gives me this 'ooooayeah'
and rubs her thighs.
I know what time it is
when I see those black and white
panda pants
and those cupcakes peeking out her tank top.
She's tippy tapping those toes
on aqua blue carpet
She's eating the air with
moans.
Is it the liquor talking when she says please?
Is she this hot stuff long legs angel squeeze?
Meatball marinara in the sink
and cigarette smoke in the air.
Peanut butter crackers and panda pants
and all I can think about is Bob Sagat.
Them panda pants be sad be mad
and she walks out
and finds a new guy
Story of my life.
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I would like to translate this poem