I ain't good

I ain't good at writing poetry on Wednesdays,
just as I ain't good at winning in Atlantic City. 

My mama said she hated me once,
and I carry that with me whenever I am having fun. 

As dumb and humble as a gator in a death roll,
this life of mine is a jammed up toll road. 

I ain't good but I am trying to try my heart out,
listening to the Music of Big Pink while heading South.