———————————————————————
old heaters in the winter
listening to the
sounds of old
heaters holding
on for life
i guess all the
money in these
places go to the
doctors and
insurance companies
—————————————————————–
snow in the forecast
the grocery store was a madhouse today
there must be snow in the forecast
why do all the white cashiers have
bag boys but none of the black
cashiers do
of course, i chose a black cashier
i’m not one of these closet racist
fucks
and she’s pregnant as well, that’s
doubly racist
i was tempted to help her but i
gave in to my evil urge that hopes
we as humans cease to fucking exist
this experiment has gone on long enough
i thanked her as she handed me the receipt
she did a really good job
the arthritis in my left hip kicked in
about 45 minutes earlier
the cold wind did me no fucking favors
soon, i’ll be an old man too damn stubborn
to ask for help loading these bags in the
back of some shitty vehicle begging for
a young soul to come put me out of
my misery
though, there’s enough alcohol in these bags
i just might find the courage to do it myself
——————————————————————
so this is my reality
sometimes the pain is
a constant companion
then, the fucking guest
that will never leave
i have given up on the
chance to ever be pain
free
so this is my reality
how do i get through
each day without getting
derailed by the pain
sure, the drugs help
but they don’t work
all the time
it is a game of chess
in a world of checkers
cheating death every
second of every day
———————————————————-
wholesome
’tis the season
of dysfunction
the myth of
family and
whatever the
fuck else is
wholesome
playing nice
to appease
aging mothers
or the old
grandmothers
that won’t give
in
eventually
we all die alone
it gets easier if
you live that way
as well
or so i am told
——————————————————————–
the kids that never grow up
a blitz of neon
fuck, halloween
isn’t here yet
christmas never
comes too early
for the greedy
kids, of course,
but the fucking
adults
the kids that
never grow
up
consumers
that know
no end
soon the bells
will be ringing
for the poor
the homeless
selling flowers
on the interstate
a hint of snow
in the air
eventually, frozen
bodies on the street…
the holidays
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is biding his time for god knows what. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash, Lotherian Poetry Journal, Yellow Mama and The Rye Whiskey Review. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)