Not prescribing to the nine to five

Gypsy in the southeastern corner of Oklahoma.

Black hair, curls, ringlets, wet and crisp.

“They steal and scam.

Driveway pavement service.

They take your money and run.”

Gypsy family.

Living in trailers.

Closed doors.

No wonder.

Don’t eat at restaurants.

Home cooked meals.

Gypsy lady with black ringlet curls.

Wheels her father in.

His hair dyed black.

I embarrassed them both by asking about his erectile dysfunction.

I thought it was his wife.

She rings her hands.

How many rings did she wear?

Two gold on each finger.

Even the thumbs.

Wealth measured.

She invited me to dinner.

I imagined bonfires.

Eyes deep and direct.

A sincere invitation.

I should have gone.

They only marry their own.

No outsiders.

Gypsy winter.

They pack up and go.

Arkansas, Texas, Missouri.

What is wrong with roaming the land?

Getting a bad reputation.

Not prescribing to the nine to five.

Gypsy family.

They sound like my own.

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