Tire Pile
You really shouldn’t be a fledgling anything
after sixty, but you pass a burning tire pile
and that is it
late to the party is better than never
except there is no party
and many say there is no such thing
as Time either
which makes late as tough a sell
as early
while the schemers
scheme
and the hippies of Redwood
breastfeed Mars out
of war
and later at my place
you are no longer there,
not even in my thoughts:
one woman, eight candles, six bottles,
two glasses…
I am counting.
Are you going to have the bathroom?
I slur.
I’m going to the bathroom,
she says.
I don’t know if anyone can
have it.
Ringo on Cushions
She is in the basement sanding down wood
shelving and applying a second coat
of paint.
I hear her working away
like a blacksmith with
benefits.
As I sit on the couch
and imagine myself the Ringo
of couch cushions.
Drunk on wine
and trying to keep up
with the others.
Laughing at everyone’s jokes
because I can’t think of any of
my own.
Sprawled out over George, Paul,
and John.
Knowing the buttons on my shirt
can’t last forever.
Jury Duty
They better not call my number, I say,
I’ll tell them right off that everyone is innocent
to me.
What if they did something really awful?
she asks.
Not guilty.
Even if they raped or murdered someone?
Not guilty.
If they want to jail a man, they will,
but they’re not enlisting my help
to do it.
But they pay you, she says.
Yes, to condemn a man,
I think not.
So what if I go to bed right now?
she asks.
GUILTY!,
I yell.
I knew it, she laughs.
You’re so full of shit!
Hazmat
I posted a 7 and a half
minute video
of me in a hazmat suit
peeling carrots
in the driveway
up on social media
and waited for
likes
under the title:
Hazmat
and all I got
was healthcare professionals
throwing shade at me
for trying to be
the sun.
EAT ME!
this very tall man
in full drag yelled from
across the street.
ONLY IF YOU WERE MADE OF GINGERREAD, SISTER!
I yelled back.
WHAT ARE YOU, SOME KINDA SISSY?
the very tall man woman
yelled back.
I started doing an Elvis dance
even though I didn’t know
what that was supposed to mean.
Drunk arguments with complete strangers
are the best because they don’t
make any sense.
Like watching freedom throw up
in its own mouth
and point to chipped barbells
on the floor.
A couple cars honking wildly
in the street.
As a midget in a sailor cap
tried to hand me a brochure
for something.
Full Circle
not just a half circle,
that would be
lazy
like picking up a Frisbee
and refusing to
throw it
or watching a partial eclipse
make a complete fool
of itself –
CIRCUMFERENCE!
I hear the entire math department
yell
which sounds like a sex toy to me,
or an old pagan ritual involving many
many sheets of particle board and a bag
of coloured marshmallows
ALL THE WAY AROUND!
I hear the cinder track coach
beckon;
a stopwatch in his hand
and a lucky marble in his pocket
which he strokes three times
when he thinks no one
is looking.
Hair Meddle
If
I
was
not
so
alone,
I
would
probably
be
with
someone
else.
Someone
who
shaves
their
legs
long
before
I
do.
Someone
of
the
opposite
sex
even.
Like
holding
hostages
over
the
sink
and
lathering
on
the
scented
soap
of
your
demands.
GET THERE FASTER!
she yells
emphatically
and since I don’t know where
I am supposed to be going
I just talk off running down the street
in old winter clunkers with the lacing
rusted through
and when one boots falls off my foot
I pump my arms wildly
feeling the wet run through
my sock
and she is yelling something,
but I am halfway up the block
by now
and starting to get rather winded
as they say in the wind
tunnel.
$3 Dollar Movies
were the
best
and we went to them
many times
a week
when we were dating
at Young and Dundas
Station
catching the underground
back out of the city
when we were done
with it
and ready to start in
on the lips
of each
other.