He looked like a JC Penney ad, with a woman who died
and left him my friend Justin as a backstory.
he wouldn’t look at you but when he did
after a couple of beers (because we were young
he’d rather have
us drink with him)
when he did look you in the eye, you felt discovered
because he could barely believe that
a couple of middle school burnouts
was all he had to talk to
coming off the road to wash up
scrub down
and fuck off again,
my dad hogged the
wild flowers on our pink couch
and drilled me to catch him up
on General Hospital
at the perfume counter I told her it was a mix of old spice
cigarettes, sweat and cut grass,
hint of yeast,
twist off spritz from a freshly cracked Blatz,
a puff of gasoline and
catfish bait
that i was looking for
Larry got to know the neighborhood so good
before he was shot blind.
if ya’ll were drunk
you’d slide over and let him drive.
at a stop sign you'd tell him left,
but watch out for this one crossing the street, Larry,
you wouldn’t believe it. They don't look the same
as when you could see
you left your extra teeth in a glass on the sink.
Just for Men,
Alberto Vo5 hair oil. that’s one
area where you
spoiled yourself.
brother randy slipped me a bill
at the bus station in exchange for a
mercifully short conversation
about my drinking.
my last hundred
you took from me.
Ok, you won.
with a shit hand.
which I described to your little sister when
the lights burnt out
in her chandelier.
she sent me home with a box of Little Debbie's
and tried to pay me for the bulbs.
the sadness is a permanent fixture.
Aside the constant pain
that
is the thing she notices
most about getting old.
No comments:
Post a Comment