Makes No Difference

By Brad Rose

Orange fingernails on nine out of ten.  One thumb missing. She’s slept with 241 truckers, not counting her husband.  When I get up enough nerve to ask her to dance, she says “One of my legs ain’t real; guess which one.”  From where I’m standing the rodeo-print mini-skirt can’t hide anything, but I say to her, “I can’t tell which is fake and which is real.” She leans in so close, I can smell the hops of the warm Budweisers, and she says to me, “When it comes to men, honey, neither can I. But like legs, it don’t make no difference.”


Brad Rose was raised about a mile from where the Apollo space capsules were built, and about 240,000 miles from the moon.
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