the good times are
killing me
we wait for seth to say
time for vodka shots?
as if that’s the question of the hour
three beers deep
a bottle or so of wine at home to be consumed
forty years old and for some reason
i keep hanging on to all of this
when i want so hard to stop and let go
the good times are killing me
and seth and you and everyone who’s always in here
the stomach burns and the sides hurt
only what the doctors don’t know won’t hurt ‘em
cheers, seth says
he’s not trying to be ironic but…
we take the shots down and he says,
man, all i want is my girl back
even though she cracked his face a few times
and left him knee deep in family misery
but abandonment makes the heart grow fonder
or so i’ve been told
and when seth picks up our pints
for round four on the house
there’s no point in stopping him
because we know where the real joy comes from
so i slouch off the stool
to put two more greenbacks in the juke
hear seth talking to you
the same sad story over and over again
his redundancy as brilliant as ours
the american dream in full bloom here
this lonely afternoon.
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