Poem of the Day 03.16.23

a wet night in brooklyn
smelling some asshole’s cigarette…again

he sits there on the stoop
in front of my bedroom window
like a bad statue, smoking

playing on his cell phone of course

i’ll admit it is raining, sprinkling really
and this is probably the only shelter for a block

but i’m drunk
and i don’t care

it may not have been the best opening salvo
to lean out my window and shout

hey asshole, you and your cigarette
get it the fuck out of here

but the consumption of alcohol
has never blessed me with tact

his response of, it’s a free country, shithead
didn’t surprise me

people find patriotism in the oddest of acts

maybe i shouldn’t have
followed him up with

shithead?
oh, you wanna step, motherfucker? let’s step

and then proceeded to put my shoes on
while calling him a dirty russian

blaming him for the election of 2016

especially since he was already up
and walking away down the street

but…again…patriotism

really
i’m glad my wife was there
to chase me down
just as i was opening the front door

she’s more sensible about these things

and she knows
that at my age

i’ve gone more
from the ass-kicker
to the ass-kicky

it’s just the simple fact of getting older

let’s just go to bed, she said
which seemed a reasonable request

and i kicked my shoes off
and i followed her back down the hallway

the scent of that bastard’s cigarette
still lingering in our room

as cars
and people
and dogs
and my wife’s snores
all permeated the streetlamp night

while i laid there
wide-awake, festering

consumed with violence
but ultimately wondering

was that asshole even russian?

Poem of the Day 03.15.23

the wind

go out in the wind
go out in the driving rain

do capitalism’s bidding

sit on stalled buses
with the angry faces of the damned

listen to horns blaring omnipotent in traffic

go out in the cold of winter
go out in the blazing heat of summer

kill the hours of the day

feel the suicide streets quake
beneath the worn soles of your feet

go out when you’re exhausted
go out when you feel sick

go out when you don’t care
if you live or die

serve
serve
serve

until you can barely breathe

go out in the snow
and brush off your car
with the rest of the fools

read the newspapers
full of tragedy and defeat

choke down your lunch

go out again
when it’s already dark

and the day has been swallowed
by stupidity

go out to the bars
with the rest of the sad drunks

go out to the chain restaurants
that shove bland food into bland mouths

speaking nothing but nonsense

go play the lottery
binge watch tv

go to bed with the sinking feeling
that your life has not been lived well
in a sea of lives that have not been lived well

try to fall asleep
as the world moans around you

and the wind beats
against the glass of your window

and the devil clock
bleeds red

promising you nothing
but that maybe you’ll get
another chance

to do it all again  
tomorrow

Poem of the Day 03.13.23

good job

at the end
of a merit-based society
it’s still just a headstone
or ash

i have never needed to be told
that i’ve done a good job

at least not at the ones that pay my bills

if you like a poem
a short story
or a novel i’ve written

i can sometimes accept that

although even that is faint praise in the end
when i’m faced with a new blank page

but never at a job

if a boss or co-worker says to me
good job

i stop and wonder what i’ve done wrong

i recalibrate my time
and fuck around for the rest of the day

make them think twice
about ever uttering that nonsense phrase my way again

i’ve worked jobs for nearly forty years
and i’ve railed against them
for almost just as long

something between me and capitalism never clicked

i can’t even fake it

good job
good job
it’s such bullshit

everyone looking for praise
in between the twines of the hangman’s noose

when we all should be
looking for a way out
with our souls and spirits intact

but i’ll keep blowing sunshine up your ass
and you’ll keep blowing it up mine

a ticking time bomb of

good job
good job
good job

exploding the precious moments we’ve been giving

ripping a huge hole through the fabric
of our one and only
short existence

headstones and ashes
our reward in the end.

Poem of the Day 03.09.23

this work email

today
i’m not going to answer
this work email

i may never answer it

i want the person who sent it
to wonder why i didn’t respond

to wonder if i never
got the email in the first place

fuck this person, i think

this blank administrative suit
this cretin who has nothing better to do

then sit in some office
creating busy work for others

sending them
a chipper goddamned email
expecting a man to be excited about it too

america is insane and insipid

i read articles about how
to be more productive at work

read them out of spite

i finish these creeds and wonder
what kind of an asshole gets inspired by this drivel

then i open up my work email
and go…oh…yeah…

so i’m not going to answer
this work email

 
i’m not going to write this shithead back
and pretend interest in their pilot program

give myself some task to do
that i didn’t want to do in the first place

let them sit there and stew
over the lack of communication

this dipshit with a six-figure salary

i’m going to let
this email sit in my inbox
and rot

like raw meat in the hot summer sun

like it’s the only
form of independence
that i truly have left.

Poem of the Day 03.07.23

e.j.’s bar & grille is defiant
in the face of the plague

the jazz man
stands outside
in the dull yellow light

drunk before the evening falls

trying to light his smoke
from the wrong end

you can hear the stones playing
from inside

the décor is a cross
between halloween and christmas

a sure sign we’re in that lull
that marks the middle of november

the bar is packed
only on one side

men drinking in flannels
and dusty ballcaps

sit close in the muted holidays lights
the white light of the television

they are a portrait
of a time before this time

a remembrance of things past

sitting here on 5th avenue
e.j’s bar & grille is defiant
in the face of the plague

stupid, maybe
a death wish waiting to come

but ain’t no one worrying about this year
ain’t no one caring about the next

there’s no hundreds of thousands
of dead bodies to count

just one beer down
another coming up

some empty stools down the other end

and one guy at the window looking outside
at the masked faces hustling home

or waiting on the jazz man
to get his head straight

figure this whole cigarette thing out.


11.19.20

Poem of the Day 03.02.23

ghosts of summer

give me back
the smack of wiffleball bat
on wiffleball

the home run kings of cul de sacs
surrounding duplex houses

playing 10-run rule

or until it was all decided
when the wiffleball went rolling down the sewer

give me back
playing nerf football in the shade
with concrete gods

making star wars action figure plots
right out of the humid, sweltering air

the sun-sick joy of evermore romance
that wouldn’t last a week

trading baseball cards on front porches
like sweaty stock brokers fearing a crash

those suburban kids
those suburban girls

those ghosts of summer
playing tag with the streetlights and fireflies

some of whom have died too young
some of whom have lived
to grow as gray as i

oh, give me back that freedom
of faux innocence and blissful indecision

you petrifying wretch of time.

Poem of the Day 03.01.23

bloody knuckles

bloody knuckles
and i am hungover again

sitting here
with my balls hanging out of
ripped boxer shorts

working on a headache
and a burning stomach

bloody knuckles
and i didn’t even get them
from something good

like a bar fight
or a fight with a neighbor over some triviality

got them making the bed
smacking my hand
off the old, weathered box spring

bloody knuckles
and all i can do
is drink wine and vodka on the couch
with band aids on

watch the hours pass
through a broken tv

until i can go to bed
and sleep the wretched restless sleep
of the damned

maybe dream that i’m some
big time prizefighter

instead of just a clumsy drunk

who can’t even properly make
his goddamned bed.

                                        10.08.19