Monday, April 18, 2016

poem of the day 04.18.16

poem in which the neighborhood asshole
fixes his car on the first seventy-degree day
of the new year

obviously there are the requisite tattoos
a neck one of a skull and crossbones
that bullshit spider web on his elbow
the ones going up and down his forearm
so you know what a bad ass he is
i’m sure death before dishonor is tattooed across his back
and something about his mother
tattered close to his heart
there aren’t even leaves on the trees
and he’s got a late summer tan
the wife beater seems almost obvious too
a powdered blue one from some beach in south florida
where maybe it was sex, maybe it wasn’t
but, hey, at least no police report was filed
and that hair he has, a style that every other dego prick
in this neighborhood is rocking
what is it?
pizza slurping douche bag by way of the murderous marines?
semper fi for sure, bro
and is that his camouflaged ATV parked in front of my building?
the sun and a cloudless blue sky are like crack to dudes like this
the way they attract asshole families eating ice cream cones
on their way to kill precious hours in the park
cockroaches one and all
i’m sure he’s contractually obligated to say, yo, what’s up?
to every blonde chick with resting bitch face
who passes by him in biker shorts
sucking down on a gallon jug of sugar-spiked iced coffee
while shouting at their boyfriends on their phones
about what insensitive pricks they are
behind his reflector shades is a blank stare
or one of some mongoloid, bulging eyed confusion
contemplating how he even found the front door
jetlagged and hungover and yet in need of a drink
i watch him noodling on his engine or carburetor
not sure if he even knows how to fix a car
waxing poetic to my wife about charles darwin
about how easy it would be to kill a man
if only it weren’t for these laws we have here
i think this guy also has the right to vote
the right to oxygen and water and the very essence of life
to the cosmos we’re one in the same
two specks of stardust shit forced to endure each other
on the same sun-soaked block
on the first seventy-degree day of the new year
where his car alarm has been wailing for at least five minutes
as he touches wires and laughs the laugh
of a peaceful fat ass, unfazed buddhist
nods his head to the relic rock coming out of his stereo
as the dog across the street barks shakespearian sonnets
yowls for tender mercies
and i close the blinds
grab the vodka
and pray for rain.

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