poem of the day 12.17.13

youthful transgressions of our forefather’s spawn

they are roaming manhattan

sliding in the slush and snow in sloppy packs

frat boys in santa costumes

with piss stains on the crotch

their sorority girlfriends

in the requisite whore mrs. claus costume

complete with fishnets

and tits paid for by their parent’s hedge fund

lily white boys and girls from the suburbs

doing a pub crawl through cavernous streets

they claim it’s for charity

but the only charity most of the neighborhoods get

are puddles of vomit

a rise in sexual assault cases

and blood-soaked concrete from drunken donnybrooks

when the seize and carnage of these vile idiots is complete

i am standing outside a famous bookstore

that never has anything inside for me to buy

watching four of these red and white aliens

trying their best to remember which way is west from east

so that they can join their friends

for cheap drinks at another bar catering to this shit

it’s clear that they have no idea where they’re at

three o’clock in the afternoon in union square

and they are already stumbling blind

and reeking of green beer and bottom shelf rot gut

i hear them arguing with each other

their red-faced and bloated leader

with a bad-boy 5 o’clock shadow

staggering into the street to hail a cab

to 12^th street and 2^nd avenue

and almost getting hit by one that refuses to stop

while the other idiots check google maps

jesus christ this is what the holiday has come down to

another gratuitous display of heathenism

by our next generation of CEOs and lawmakers

it’s just as well

but then one of the mrs. claus spots me standing there

she’s a hot little blonde number in green tights

and little else

hours from now her mouth and asshole

will probably be swollen from another bad idea gone awry

but for now her focus is on me

she’s trying to get her man to get directions from me

to their next bar

i figure if he comes over i’ll send him to east new york

to see how well he does out there

dressed like some cheerful drunken asshole

her boyfriend looks at me through beady red eyes

he says, fuck that guy

he looks like a faggot who doesn’t drink

and then the four of them take off in the wrong direction

two of them falling in the gray slush

sullying their festive costumes

and when they come wobbling back ten minutes later

screaming at each other

in front of hundreds of holiday shoppers

their big ball in the city ruined

by their own gluttony

and blondie starts making eyes at me again

i think maybe i’ll go back into the famous bookstore

give it one more shot

kill an hour before my pub opens up at four o’clock

where last year the world’s coolest bartender made it a sport

to see how many of these jolly motherfuckers

he could throw out.