Poem: Love shoveled

My love got ate up by a pneumatic shovel,
doubled over on the pavement, sorority house basement style.
Mousy procreators doused in sorries and flurries
of wintry sniffles. Sentries standing tip-toed on billfolds.
Pillows covering covergirl faces demanding
entry to the center that wouldn’t hold.
Sinners forgotten holding hands say the blessing.
Let’s say the blessing: God is great, God is good,
let us thank Him just for listening.
Nobody wants to hear me since mama died.
Fried old bottom feeders in piles and sprinkled
them with cornmeal, not a single inch left glistening.