Patience isn’t going to help me live forever.

I had the money. I didn’t care that her parents
had been dead for years.

She could have told me any story,
and she could have come
from as far as that one city in Alaska.

Can’t remember the name. Can’t sleep on the long walk home.

She didn’t show up. We know that.
Better minds,
clearer visions have written better songs
about the driver getting off the bus last,
knowing how things go and just patting you on the shoulder
as he walks on past.

My ride got busted a half-hour later,
and we’re still trying to figure out
what country they sent him to.

He drinks,
carries a gun and screams out the window
to coax the moon into sing like Screamin’ Jay Hawkins
two nights in a row.

I guess anything could have happened to him.
I guess anything could have happened to her.

I don’t write, and my phone is off for days on end.
I buy postcards, but I think I’m just working
on an antique scrapbook at this point.

She knows where to find me.
Always has, always will,
always moved through a blackout town
as though anybody, anybody could.

Go ahead and laugh at me,
but I waited for about a day and a half.

That commercial job fell through
When three guys came into the room
and told me to get undressed.

I won’t even tell you the trouble
that fuckin’ money is gonna bring me later.

But,
well,
bring on the sirens,
and bring on the trouble
I’m finally willing to meet for cards.

I don’t bluff.
I can tip over a table though.
I can spit out my teeth,
and say something elegant.

Watch me make life difficult
for the six people trying to take me out back
for the exact opposite of a victory march.

Sixth marriage is the charm for most people,
and I can totally see why.

Who wants to be doing this shit at sixty?

I would say not me.
I would,
I would,
I swear to God,
I would.

But how do you explain all this?

What’s the logic, the angle behind going out
to ruin Christmas,
on that afternoon in June
when the hurricanes come out of hiding?

No logic. Don’t ask God about it.

I used to,
but these days I’m out with Warren and the boys.

We’re chomping at the bit.
The sun doesn’t get to push us around.

We’re loud enough
to put the dead back to sleep.

11/16/2011

Posted on 11/16/2011
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