Millie Mae looked pretty in her homemade gingham dress,
As she walked into that saloon, and plunked her gold down with the rest,
Who were chewing fat and ‘baccy warming by the fire.
She cut herself a fat plug and stuck it in her jaw.
That chaw was ripe and flavourful,
She savoured til her cheek felt full,
Then turned her mouth in that direction
And hit the spittoon in one huge ejection.
A sharp newcomer swaggered into that noisy bar,
And marked a woman sitting with the men,
He guffawed as he watched her exact her careful plan,
To land her spittle right where she had aimed.
His clear derision she would make his last,
‘Cause Millie Mae saw in him, the cad he was.
She cast a steel-eyed bead upon his silly face,
Then disgorged her sputum spray exactly on that place!
After writing poems in various rhyme schemes I have decided to try non rhymes. As I feel passionately about the inequities of our times, my poems have turned political. It is freeing to find the screaming voice of dissent that is trapped within the convention of daily living. Poetry is the last refuge of the suffering while standing tall as the vanguard of change.