Maria tells me, “He’s a chancre sore in my life.
He’s probably with some other woman anyway.
I gotta get outta this depression
I put on 20 more pounds I can’t seem to shed
Maybe I’ll just suicide out”
She’s sobbing and she’s crazy.
“He’s not home yet and it’s half past ten.

He said he’d be here at five.” God damn!
What a scene! She’s screamin’ at him.
He’s drinkin heavy. Tells her, “Get Lost!”
She finally gets him out the bar door,
home to the waiting bed.
“He has a hard on,” she cries,
“but he won’t f*** me.”

Peter says, “It’s the way Maria’s shaped by nature or fate.”
“Look at those two,” I say to her, “playing with their fruits.
That guy with that girl got his hand on the other girl’s butt.”
“She’s just no good,” Maria says, mad, hands on her hips.
“She’s messing with some other girl’s man.”

I say “You just feel bad cause you’re thinking
of your man messing with some other woman.”
“Maybe I’ll just go for a pedicure,” she says,
“get my hair blown out straight. I wanna lose that 20 pounds.
I’m so upset I sold my gold watch for 5 bucks worth of crack
Maybe I’ll just suicide out.”

Maria goes in my room. She uses the phone
All private like in hope and pain,
Almost like a prayer
“Write about me,” she says,
“bout me and my man.

We’re talking just like poetry, you know.”
“Yes, I know. It’s all poetry you know.
Your outfit’s perfect, coordinated so well.”
“Thank you very much.
I think I’ll have another go.
Or maybe I’ll just suicide out”