"airhorn" poems
i m4y lik3 4dult c0nt3nt
but that ****
d035nt c0mp3t3 w1th my AIRHORN
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
At goodwill Buy the Pound
every day is black friday
Hundreds of soccer moms line up their
white sneakers on a black and yellow caution tape line
zombie over it streching for yu-gi-oh cards
wait for hazmat suits to wheel out eight bins full of trash gone treasure.
When the bins are locked in place the hazmat suits go back to pack another load
The air horn sounds.
You do not want to be anywhere near that caution tape line when this happens.
At goodwill buy the pound
If you're not part of the fight,
you're part of the floor.
They need to find their
puzzle peices lost in cat liter
Johnny really needs
every single nerf dart
DID YOU TAKE A NERF DART?!
WE TALKED ABOUT THIS JO-ANN
THOSE WERE FOR JOHNNY.
Johnnys grandma is not the only elder throwing elbows
varacose veins are curb stomping dads hauling consoles to make a quick buck
Skinny College aged video game collectors swim through the mom-pocalypse
raid the stashes for disguarded NES cartridges
Jo-ann grabs a twinky boy by the black graphic hoodie.
Tosses him back into the horde
lunges for a barbie doll hidden under some wires.
This is not a place for nice children.
If you aren't willing to push around some nanas
you will leave covered in nike prints.
This place turns people.
Ever look at someones mom and think
She looks like she's always wearing a mask.
She is!
Buy the pound is her natural habitat.
One grandma keeps so many cats, her living room is a Petrie dish
I think she just wants to be in charge of a small third world countrey.
Granny needs to go rally up the soccer moms at buy the pound.
To lead those cats into a mother thirfting revolution
These woman leave feeling like they saved their family a fortune
Dumpster diving for sport.
Every tossed or trampled stranger
One flip flop closer to
feeding their children
clawing through poverty
When that airhorn sounds again.
They scurry back to their carts.
Tell their children
"Make sure nobody steals this"
as they line back up in haste.
Touch their all white nikes to the caution tape line.
Hold their family close like brass knuckles.
when that airhorn sounds.
It's time to fight.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
Here it comes again.
The stinging of the nose and eyes
that gives rise to tears rushing,
color flushing out from the recesses of your face,
the airhorn that signals your heart to start to race.
All of the ****** secrets in life, all at once,
become painfully clear.
As if we are in a car with no brakes or wheel,
we do not feel
as if we can steer off this crash course.
Like a dead horse that nobody will stop beating,
your weaknesses begin retreating
to the most obvious places in your body.
This is one of those times
where depression becomes less like an ailment
and more like an obsession.
Leaving you smashed
on the sidewalk of your life,
just trying to hold on that extra while longer.
If it's ever been a question
of who's weaker or stronger,
then it clearly has been a losing hand
since the begginning.
You're not winning this one.
But we are the victors, us who managed
to survive ourselves.
To dust off photo albums off happier times
off forgotten and ignored shelves.
We are still here
and the end to this suffering is near.
Just hang on.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC