it is what it is
maybe it is what it is
you stop counting the drinks
and let it ride
because when you count the drinks
at least after a while
you forget who’s keeping tabs
you think
well, fuck them
then you crack open another one
or pour another tall one out of contempt
it is what it is
your old man visiting from pittsburgh
talking about his cancer
telling you, you’re forty now
you need to start thinking about the prostate
some doctor’s finger up your ass
telling you that this might be uncomfortable
manana, manana, you tell him
like a lettuce picker in salinas with the sun going down
waving a beer filled hand
or maybe when i’m fifty
it is what it is
the daily abuse of this life
internet trolls with literary ambitions
giving you shit because they can’t handle their own
and everyone pays on credit
or with their cell phone
the girl at the grocery store
who lets you stand in her line for ten minutes
with the food you need for dinner rotting
flipping a glossy tabloid with her razor-like fingernails
before telling you
that the line is closed
then laughing into her little gadget
out of spite
it is what it is
this life
that death
beheadings by the week
and drones galore
the infect of government
endless anniversaries of bloodshed
a dead kid laying on the street
in the hot missouri sun for four hours
while the cops scratch their chapped asses
and play at being macho
america being enthralled by another sports hero
beating the shit out of his wife
the internet abuzz
like a brain tumor
over starlets with their tits hanging out
while you sit on the couch
listening to a symphony of sirens
car alarms, and barking dogs
crying over john lennon songs
telling yourself that it is what it is
that nothing will change anything
save the sun burning out of the car exhaust sky
forgetting to count
how much
of the poison
it was
that you put down again
today.
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