Work-Related Injury

She said she had to quit giving hand jobs
because her arthritis got too bad
she would have customers at the full body massage,
regulars wanting the regular
and her arthritis would flare up
so she went to this specialist who filled out
all the requisite forms
and now she collects disability
and doesn’t have to give hand jobs
anymore.

She showed me the form which explained
the cause of her chronic arthritis:
repetitious work.

She said the term “work” was important because the injury
had to be work related or you got nothing.

I guess she told them she was a secretary or something
and there was no follow-up.

Good for her, and quite the looker as well.

Retired at 23.

Lights & Sirens

Roadside surgery
Performed in back rooms of low-lit bars
I came so close to bleeding out
That I made my peace with God
Then renounced His very name
Some things are just not worth it

Patched up and back behind the wheel
A quart of brandy my old-time remedy
For the shivers and shakes
That set in with alarming regularity
These old bones won’t rattle forever

I closed my eyes as I drove through her town
I couldn’t bear to take it in

 

Hitting Home

The wine is hitting home
and it’s a good place to be
right now
at home with a couple of
bottles of diablo’s
chardonnay and the poems
offering themselves up
like cheap whores or
fallen angels taunting
and teasing like a 1950’s
censored Elvis:
the wine is hitting home
as millions of strangers
around me starve and
fall victim to oppression
and injustice and abuse,
as animals are hunted
and forests burned and
slashed, oceans poisoned:
it’s a good place to be
as the wine hits home,
numbed and fucking
useless against the
relentless mad swirl
of the world,
just for a while
as the wine hits home,
it’s a good
place to be.

Nice Days

The copper gives me a
speeding ticket and a
two hundred and
sixteen dollar fine.

He says
Have a nice day

and pats the
roof of my car.

The road to this point,
after about 3 or 4 hours
of flat foot driving
has been paved with,
at the very least,
one million
road kill
kangaroos.

Nice days are like this.

Even in all its irony.

Nice days are the ones
that back door you
while reaching around
and cupping your balls
like a tea spoon
cradling an emu egg.

Dead kangaroos and
speeding fines.

Multitasking

I heard the other day of a study
Devaluing the art of multitasking
Ignoring its benefits
I simply can not agree
And belittle the exuberance
Of riding my bicycle
Talking on the phone
Drinking a beer
And pulling my member
As I think of you
And all of the bullshit
you put me through

 

Highway 16

She claws his face
and reaches over his lap
to unlock her door
through the master control
and he almost swerves off the road into a tree

He’s forced to slow it down
He tries to punch her unconscious in the process
But she gets it unlocked
and lunges out of the car
while he’s still going at least 30 mph

He looks back and watches her hit the ground
Tumbling
Like a cigarette
Saw her orange heels flipping about
Like embers on the blacktop

This isn’t the way it was supposed to go
Shit. He turns the car around
Sees her staggering barefoot
Into the dark forest

Damnit
He pulls the car over
gets out
and goes in after her

3 Seconds to Anal

I’m listening to the only
Heartbeat left in the room,
Guiding the movement
Of the elitists, slithering to safety.

I’m just a piece of contentment
To a drifter in a tent
To a dead lion
In a czar’s living room
To a horny guru
Teaching bible studies.

The two lines in my vows to myself
A one liner about the tightness of my pussy
And a quote by some random
Philosopher, I once heard mention something trivial
Like “time is of the essence”.

I have four crumbs left
And I will eat them all
Because you called me on my bullshit
In 2001, when I wasn’t ready
To have my cherry popped
By a machine that
Hadn’t even been invented yet.

Tell me you think I’m pretty
And we go from “hello” to anal in 3 seconds.