Heaven's A Bar In Atlanta, Expensive As Hell, And You Have To Pay All Those Demons Poem by Danielle Hanson

I couldn't catch my soul when I sneezed last week.
The glue of 'Gesundheit' has gotten old
And cracked in its bottle.
I tried everything to get it back,
A Dustbuster, a Hoover when that didn't work.
I used a crowbar to get back out.
I lost two teeth. I wanted to put up fliers
Offering a reward, but couldn't find its picture.
I think it may now be on the road with the gypsies of America,
Who believe that pictures steal a person's soul.
Forget pictures—I know now that gypsies still steal souls.
They first met my soul at a rest stop,
Asking for money to get back to Macon, Georgia.
My soul was entranced by their freedom, it always hated
Being stuck inside a person like me who knew the scam
Behind four kids and a flat tire. There were guys at my high school
Who always asked for lunch money. Some days they made twenty dollars.
My soul could make a killing doing that. The little tramp
Always knew how to use her eyes on men. She'll fit in well.