lingering
in loserville
the
bartender puts
my
money in the till
and
pours me another
it’s
my birthday today
i
went to a boxing club
wrapped
my hands
and
hit the heavy bag
for
an hour
the
other boxers seemed impressed
until
i tried to jump rope
and
my lifestyle was laid bare
after
a minute
i
almost threw up
put
my shirt
back
onto my sweat
waiting
for someone to monogram
it
with, “past his prime”
and
left the gym
i
threw the hand wraps
into
a trash can
and
walked till i saw this bar
had
a smoke before i came in and found
they
serve thirty-six ounce mugs of beer
i
assured the bartender i don’t own a car
and
i am on a first name basis
with
all the dispatchers at yellow cab
and
told him to load me up
there
are a lot of women here
tight
tops, tight jeans
tight
tanned bodies
and
the tanned muscled males
are
seeking recreation
i
don’t fit in
my
black oversized t-shirt
hides
my form
and
my jeans aren’t fashionably torn
and
i won’t make eye contact
i’d
rather use my hand
then
roll over or play dead on command
filled
with beer
i
become bored
head
to the solace of sidewalks
light
a smoke
reassuringly
tap my flask filled pocket
and
scream at the bloodless moon,
“i
want to be lady godiva’s horse,
but
only for twenty-eight days of the month!”
and
start walking
maybe
i’ll see henry rollins
walking
one of these streets
we
can recite,
“writing
on walls of mason hotel
the
vacated rooms consistently smell
of
used condoms and cum
we
wonder where all the whores are from
when
all the women we meet
want
us to compete
with
full time devotion
for
a part time emotion
high
priced housewives
or
two dollar whores
it’s
all just a little more
then
i’m willing to pay”
then
henry will tour europe
while
i continue on my way
on
these dark streets of decay
stop
and look at my reflection
in
a store front window and say,
“happy
birthday”
***
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