Wednesday, July 14, 2010

poem of the day 07.14.10


gary wants us
to meet crispin
he asks if we smoke pot
and i say not in a long time, man
you get older
you run out of connections

gary says
crispin has the best shit
bright green with purple veins
maybe we’ve seen
him in here
he has long hair
and these wild, blue eyes

no, haven’t seen
crispin, i say

so you think
you want to?
gary asks
he looks from me to my wife
she shrugs
i think back to when
gary was just another guy
in the bar
who left us alone
like the rest of them did

now we’re exchanging
books and movies
buying each other beer
playing each other songs
on the juke
and making vague plans to hang out

maybe, i tell him

great, gary says
he shoots down his draft
takes the last hit on his jack

make sure to be here
on thursday, he says
crispin comes in
on thursday

gary leaves after another free
splash of jack

i turn to my wife

thursday might be a good day
to find another fucking bar,
she says
because this place has become
too much
i miss the two of us
coming in here after work
to drink and relax

and crispin? she says
what kind of a fucking name
is crispin
for a lousy drug dealer?

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