TALKS WITH THE BIG GIRL

I danced with the Big Girl, and she threw me around.

She bucked me every time that I surfed her crown,

But wondered after much abuse why I did not frown.

And asked why I keep smilin’ like a foolish clown.

She said, “You lack technique, style, and grace.

In fact, after every surf, you fall on your face.

Your pretty ass would be more at home in muslin or lace,

Or perhaps waiting around for a husband's embrace.”

I said, “True, I’ve no grace: I can barely walk on dry land.

But there's something 'bout me that you must understand.

I often do things that draw swift reprimand,

And persist in perfecting that beyond my command.

So no matter how many times I take a dive

Or swim a long swim, I will survive.

Between crazy & fear--that’s where I thrive.

I'll keep hitting the wave til my surf arrives.”

She said, “Bitch, you're crazy, but then so am I.

Hang on, and I'll take you for a long ride.”

Then she sucked me into her friendlier side,

And kept me where the Ladies’ Room & Anvil collide.

I told the Girl thank you, and I'd see her again--

Though leaving her after that ride felt like a sin.

Still, it was time to leave and gather with friends

To celebrate our Girl’s return with a shot of bourbon.