Thursday, November 14, 2013

Too broke to give a damn.

After the coffee,
before the boots, a
a noticeable lilt to stern,
looking for the sweet spot,
where yesterdays good  times
only hurt a little,
adjusting the position and tilt
of your traitorous head
like pointing the antennae
towards Memphis for your father,
it was hopeless.
Sitting on a Marquis De Sade futon,
peeling the label from breakfast,
sure
not to think again
about eggs...

like the other day.  Next you are thinking
again,
of Saturday eggs and cartoons
and shush now
you will wake your mother
with no conviction at all,
and all of you sharing
a single blanket
crushed together
on a goodwill couch...

so peeling the label off
a sweating bottle of Old Style,
and learning my lesson.
Little lessons on living given
by life,
that by now I should have mastered.
I should have caught on
before grey hair
and quarrelsome diagnosis,
late life artistic license
the only one left
and it focused mostly on the myth.

Careful what you say was what
I learned in prison.
Careful not to think is what
I was taught by life,
because
thinking leads to feeling
and I damn sure can't afford that.