poem of the day 10.28.14

almost throwing a beer bottle

at the famous hockey players head

it was another night of no action

the bar, the clubs in pittsburgh giving me no quarter

toward my helpless desire

we were out with steve’s sister, elena

at some over-thirty joint on the allegheny river

she’d been prick-teasing me all night

because steve told her that i had the hots for her

because she was newly divorced and newly blonde

and wanted to feel good about herself for a change

come dancing with me, elena said

we went onto the floor and she shimmed her ass to me

giving me a wink and a taste

before slinking away into the crowd

her thirty-five to my twenty-two years of naivety

just standing there under the purple fluorescents

wondering what the hell

watching boob jobs and face lifts and hair dye mingle

with men still sporting earrings

george rubio had a bottle of goldschlager in his car

so we went outside to drink it

the dead of winter and three slugs in

we were already taking off our coats and hats

telling tall tales about elena

you know, if either of us ever got the chance

back in the bar we ordered two over-priced beers

to chase the booze

it seemed like half the place had cleared

but really almost everyone was packed into one corner

where the hot-shit hockey player and his entourage

we standing with drinks

pointing around the room like conquering romans

as if taking their pick of the women

george and i went over and i killed my beer

that’s when i saw elena slink up to the hockey player

and start whispering into his ear as he smiled

her thirty-five to his twenty-five, his talent, his wealth

i had the perfect shot

a clearing in the crowd

i held the bottle up to my ear

like a molotov cocktail and was about to let loose

on the club, the night, those two stanley cups

the hockey player had helped bring to the steel city

my own brilliant act of terrorism

i felt someone grab my arm

i turned and it was steve

he took the beer bottle out of my hand

and said, dude, that’s my sister over there

i know motherfucker, i said

you think i honestly don’t know?

then i stalked off to vomit in the bathroom

just me and the attendant who kept spraying cologne

thinking that there was still some night left

to go somewhere else in the lonely city

meet a nice young girl

who was into poetry or baseball

maybe tell her all about myself

and how a hero ain’t nothing but a sandwich