WHEN THE WRONG GIRL GETS PISSED OFF BY A POEM
I was talking
to this young lady I know
and she was really pissed off
about a poem I wrote
about getting laid
in the back seat
of an old ’73 Buick LeSabre
I didn’t see why this one poem
in particular
was so upsetting to her
and then it dawned on me.
I was thinking, “Oh yeah,
now I remember that night. “
Now either I was really drunk
or her performance
just wasn’t up to par
It’s hard to write a poem
about something that
you don’t even remember
Unfortunately,
like all too many women (and men)
she doesn’t realize
that what’s up here (mind)
and in here (heart)
is worth infinitely more
than what’s down here (crotch)
ANARCHY IN QUEBEC
They were protesting and parading around Rue St. Denis and Rue St Catherine. They were
beating on drums and chanting their anarchist slogans. The signs they wielded proclaimed the
horrors of our society. This was Anarchy French Canadian style on their afternoon march. The
local businesses seemed a bit dismayed although a few waitresses and bartenders commiserated
with the cause. I was just sitting there finishing my beer knowing that I needed to get through
the crowd to move on to my next destination. I figured I would just treat the anarchist parade
like a conga line and get off when I got closer to my destination. I figured if the gendarmes
stopped me I would plead ignorance. Désolé. Je suis un Américain muet. It seemed like a good plan.
marching with a cause
or even without said cause
they raise a ruckus
ASSHOLES AND BITCHES NEED NOT APPLY
As I waltz through my life
whiling away hours, weeks,
years & even decades
I never found a shortage
of certain undesirable sorts.
There seems to be
an asshole lurking
under every rock
& a bitch to be found
around any old corner.
The cretins aren’t coming.
They’re already here
They appear out of the mist
when you least expect them
always willing to lend a hurting hand.
There’s no longer any surprise
in finding someone new
only to learn they are not dependable.
You’re only an afterthought
they never truly care for.
As I get older
I find I have fewer friends
and more casual acquaintances
and that’s very much by design
as I try to keep my life real.
I’d rather be surrounded
by those relatively special few
that I know I can count on
than have thousands of false friends
valued at a dime a dozen.
BAD DREAMS
the blanket covers me
in winter sweat
the dream turns sinister
a lesbian and a Republican
are talking to me
and trying to seduce me
into a plot
to capture Tibet
and get head from
Buddhist monks
I run through the house
out to the backyard
being chased by
Andre the Giant and Grace Jones
My foot gets stuck
in an anthill
and the evil henchmen
take me captive;
some mornings
I’m really glad to wake up
Dumpster Fire Press 