Amy’s Arms

we’re in her basement
table cluttered with cans
a drying dying
bottle of whiskey
and her awful diet Sprite

I drink in chased shots
Amy a mix of whiskey and
warm flat diet Sprite
I see the red lateral scars
on Amy’s arms

I say something
and forget it
instant amnesia
but whatever I said
it gets her yelling

her face is a twisted grimace
and it strikes me as funny
I laugh
she doesn’t see the humor
she stands up with a shriek
and curses me

I’m trying to figure out
what I just said
I can’t stop laughing
Stop laughing!
she grabs a badminton racquet

wields it like a weapon
like a samurai sword
like a lance
with my name on it
I still can’t stop laughing

she hits me in the face
with the racquet
I stop laughing
Wap!

I keep smiling and lean into her
Wap!

I want her to blacken my eyes
break my nose
knock out my teeth
Wap!

I feel the blood start
it runs over my smile
staining my teeth
I let it ruin the front of my shirt
she drops the racquet

Oh! Oh I’m sorry
I’m so sorry baby
she finds an old rag
presses it to my nose
Lean back
I’m okay

she hugs me and says
she loves me
when my nose stops bleeding
we sit back down
have another drink

so many years ago
the memory reminds me
I’m gonna die
like Amy
she died in a bathtub
in warm soapy water

she used her old friend
the razor blade
only this time she meant it
the radio was on
when they found her

it sounds stupid but I wonder
what song was playing
as her veins emptied
and the water clouded red
I hope it was something beautiful

not some dumb DJ
or obnoxious commercial
that might have messed up her soul
cheapened it
as it drifted away

I don’t go to the wake
because I can’t face her family
because if the casket is open
I might scream

I don’t go to the funeral
because I can’t face her family
because when they lower her
into the ground
I might puke

Amy, so long girl
I still can’t remember
what I said that day

***

From: Everything Dissolves

Rye Whiskey and Pork Jowl Pizza

your wife asks you to put
a bullet in her head

normally this would be
taken as a joke but
recently she has been in
immense pain and is in
no joking mood whatsoever
trust me I know
I don’t even get a smile
when I speak of Asian
hookers or dog dick
I know it’s serious then

I feel pure guilt enjoying
this ten dollar cigar
and rye whiskey
while she aches and moans
in bed well before bedtime

I’ve gotten her water
rubbed her back
and put a heating pad
on her as requested
but I still feel empty
as if I’m incapable of helping

I am making a pork
jowl cauliflower crust pizza
I put the crust on for the initial bake
I try a sample of the cut up jowl
the dog stares at me
I take out a chewed piece
for him to sample as well
he devours it and continues
licking the patio pavement
where it landed
now the fucker won’t leave
me alone and go to bed
with his ailing mother
as a dog he’s a mama’s boy
lays on her legs at night
I have to move him constantly
he also gets up out of bed
every time she rises

here lately with the disease
this has been constant
with multiple trips to the bathroom

as my cigar now burns down
I refill my glass of rye
I’ve become a fan of rye recently
a competitor to my usual bourbon

sometimes more spice is nice
my wife needs to feel
some spice right now

more than I do

as I relight this nub
I am hating myself for enjoying life

Sharks & Butterflies
John D Robinson
100 pages, Cajun Mutt Press

***

SHARKS & BUTTERFLIES

We were talking about butterflies and
how some species migrate over thousands
of miles annually, moving up to
speeds of 30mph and riding the
swirling thermals and
forceful winds.
‘The power and intelligence of
these delicate creatures can be
comparable to that of the
great white shark’ I said.
He smiled widely and nodded his
head slowly: we were stoned on
potent hash and Valium,
our eyes mere slits,
our throats dry
our minds and bodies
saturated with a heavy
peacefulness that made
discussing the beauty and
wonder of butterflies and
sharks in the same breath as
something quite natural
as then, the silent t.v.
screened pictures of the
horrific aftermath of a
suicide bombing in the beating
heart of a market somewhere
in the world.

***

BUY A COPY HERE

Everywhere

For several moments afterwards
as we lay satisfied, listening to
our deep breathing and to the
dull hum of passing traffic
going everywhere and nowhere,
she said: ‘You certainly
weren’t the first and you
certainly won’t be the last,
but I’ll always remember you’
‘Thanks’ I said:
she was gone before I awoke:
a one-nighter, not even
knowing each other’s names:
she was slim, petite, pretty,
short brown hair, hazel eyes,
small soft hands and she
has a smile, so natural, so
real, true,
that’s what I remember of
her: these 30 years later,
she’d be 60 or so now,
she may be dead, she may
not be and I don’t care,
we were strangers,
then, now, forever,
she’s with me tonight
though, in heaven or hell,
it doesn’t matter,
it’s just the being together
somehow
that counts.

The Transfusion

If she had been
a fictional character
she would have
been Sally Bowles,
her soul sucked dry
by vampires of amour,
her spirits restored
by a raided medicine
chest of uppers, downers,
in betweeners popped
on shifts, before and
after, sucked down
with chilled thermos
cups of imported vodkas
and a masking colored
juice, a queen’s ransom
of alcohol and drugs
ingested every day
of her life even with
the nursing license
on the line, “You don’t
understand what its
like,” She says, “After
that plane crash when
I was a student nurse
trying to administer
aid to the dead and
dying on the scene,
body parts everywhere,
that belonged to no one,
living a nightmare that
never ends so that, now,
whenever I hear a siren
I want to scream.”
So they give her duty
in ER, vacant eyes locked
in a perpetual thousand
yard stare, moving among
the injured wearing a
cloak of doom, a wired
free agent doing field work
for a Master’s Degree in Death.

the inevitable march to the end

another cold
night alone

finishing off
a bottle of
brandy

thinking of
the old flames
that surely have
forgotten about
you

it’s not a fear
of dying alone

it’s the inevitable
march to the end

the tragic nature
of a talent never
fulfilled

the constant
knowing that
no one has
ever taken
the time to
love you

it’s not that
easy to sum
it all up in
a little note

It’s really fucking hot

Outside and not between us.
Imagine if I was drunk right now?
Alone with the vast awareness of self.

My true one.
Nice to see you.
Kind of.
Not really.

This is exactly why I drank.
I’m all I have.
In the end,
no one will entertain me.
I’m the beast I’ve been hunting from day one.
Got ya.

The jig is up.
The spotlights on.

There’s no sounds left but the fan,
oscillating awkwardly around the room.

My true self. Did I mean to get here?
Was I always destined to get what I deserved?
Me. Nothing else.

An eternity of silence.
Quiet moments in which I disappear and show up,
over and over again until the light goes out.

Was there ever a purpose?
For any of us?

It’s the funniest joke I’ve ever heard.
The one I’m telling.
Right.
Now.

I put ice cubes around the cat to cool her down.
Feed her a mountain of biscuits because I can’t feed myself.

I’ve been suspended in time for a long time.
Haven’t I?

I’m home safe but don’t tell anyone.
My heart is a stupid, useless toy.

I’m sick of playing so I delete my memories
to chase an honesty this world is yet to know.

Can you hear me?
My mind is full of other people’s thoughts.

We are all terrifying and angry and broken.
Chomping at the bit to get a bit of love.

Never have I ever felt so ordinary
nor did I notice the state of our affairs.

If you look outside you’ll see a world on fire.
If you look inside you’ll get the same effect.

The whole thing is a mirror. An accident.
Flawed from the beginning. Flawed until the end.

I tell myself I’ll make a difference
because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t bother.
The whole show is something I could miss.

God is a structure designed to spare us this feeling.
The dangerous knowing. None of this is real.
None of us are anything or everything.

Don’t say I told you so.

When I wake up, they’ll be nothing left but ash.
An eternal branding, a flag stuck just to say that we were here.

Left to my own devices I’m divisive.
I tunnel underground for preservation and smile at you blankly.
Say the right words to mimic a response.

“It’s really fucking hot.”

So what?

New Orleans Pride

it was a long Labor Day weekend
although weekends never feel long
I took a few days off in
preparation for said weekend
that Wednesday I hurt my knee bad
so I hobbled with every step
fucking great, I thought
I’m going to have to do
a lot of walking this weekend
Thursday
I took the dog to the vet
I watched as my dog took shots
like a champion
a cute blonde with a lip piercing
and tight scrubs hugged my dog tight
and let him lick her in the mouth
as the doctor shot him up with drugs
and inserted a long cylindrical tube
into his anus for a fecal test
this lucky bastard, I thought
tests were negative
the dog healthy
I emptied my wallet and
we went on our way
Friday
the wife and I left for Ocean Springs
ate great barbecue
drank good bourbon and soaked
in a large tub by the bed
the next day we went to an
art walk where I purchased
an original piece from a hipster
I won’t hold that against him
because his work is amazing
we then headed for Biloxi
we gambled a little
ate a lot
and saw the comedian
we were there to see
I had strong drinks from the bar
and weak drinks at the slots
I ran into a coworker who was
feeding machines with hundred after hundred
“push it” he told me
“maybe you’re lucky”
I wasn’t
I never am
Sunday
we drove to New Orleans
as we were getting off on our exit
I turned to my wife and said
“I just remembered, it’s pride weekend”
we made our way toward the hotel bar
rumors have it that Bukowski stayed
there when he was in his twenties
we found a spot on the street to park
less than a block away
we entered the bar and ordered drinks
as we drank we watched
girls and guys walk by with wings attached
dressed in wigs, dresses or much less
I ordered another round and
we decided to take a walk
I fired up a cigar as we walked
I knew what they were probably thinking
me sucking on a long brown stick
many males and females in thongs
and jockstraps
chest harnesses abound
no problems among thousands of people
everyone was so festive and joyous
dancing, laughing, and singing
it’s then I realized how they
probably got their title
I was proud of New Orleans once again

She Is Beautiful

My face just a few inches
from her pussy, her legs
spread wide,
she is beautiful.
and I watch as she
masturbates and
climaxes:
daylight is shutting
down as her
murmurs of pleasure
vastness and people
will begin to make ready
for the evening:
she softly quietens
and lays still as I
move and wrap my
arms around her as
my neighbours close
their curtains and
lock their doors,
shutting out the
world:
she is beautiful,
the street-lighting
sprinkles into being
and small garden
birds are now silent
as she brings me
between the moment
of life and death.