He went to see the oldboy in the hospital.
It was his job to check in on all the oldboys
and oldgirls that they assigned to him.  
He liked his job very much
the oldboys and/or girls had some of the best stories
or sometimes it was good just to visit with them
and watch the boredom or sadness leave them for a bit,
while they were visiting or chatting.

This particular oldboy was one of his favorites.
The oldboy reminded Jay of both himself and his father in an odd way.
For one, the oldboy had a lot of tattoos
and was always mad about something.
The oldboy had the proverbial soapbox
and wasn’t afraid to stand on it.
Also, the oldboy cussed a lot.
The oldboy was short/fat/bald too,
like Jay’s Pop was and Jay liked,
honestly to see this particular oldboy because
he felt like it gave him a glimpse into his own future.
It didn’t help though that the oldboy liked to smoke
those little blue cigars
and drink a lot of coffee
and whiskey,
because Jay liked, in moderation/sort of,
***** and smoke and cheeseburger sandwiches
and doughnuts
and bacon
and all that stuff that was surely shortening his life.
Jay didn’t like to think about that,
but he liked the look-forward that the oldboy afforded him.

Anyway, the hospital visit came about
and Jay made his way to the third floor
turning left and right scanning the signs
for the right room number.
He found it pretty fast
and made his way to the oldboy’s room.
The room was sad straightaway.
The little closet with the shelves just had a ratty pair of shorts
and a holey tshirt on it.  
The bed was made up tight and clean.
It looked like no one had slept in there the night before.        
There was the oldboy asleep in the hospital room recliner-chair.
He was in his hospital gown and drawers
with ratty old sandals on his feet. His chin was tucked in between his ***** and his gut
and he was snoring loudly.
Hey, Oldboy!
ZZZZzzzz
Hey, Oldboy, ya’wake?
ZZZzzzz
Hey!!  Ya’in here!!??
MMmmhmm?!
Hey, ya okay? Why ya in’here? Whatsamatter? Ya’needsomethin’?
Oh, hiya Jay.
Thanks fer comin’round.
His leftside looks a little hangdog.
They’s tellsa me I’da has had a stroke.
Oh, that’s a ****** shame, Oldboy!  
What the hell’ya gonna do now?
Oh, I’sa don’t right know, Jay.  
I’ma sad shape,
an’ I’ma miss my dog.
Lookit, Oldboy…
I’m calling The State.
I’m telling that they cannot send you
to the house without some extra time for someone to
lookout for you.
They’ve gotta keep someone
keeping  an eyeball on you.
They can’t send you home
with nobody keeping tabs on you.

Hey, that’s a good plan.
In this life ya gotta hava pal
and that pal’s gotta lookowt for ya.
Thanks fer comin’ by, Jay…
MMMhmmmZZZzz.

The Oldboy fell asleep
and Jay talked to some nurses
asking them not to send the oldboy home
until they’d talked to The State
and gotten him some extra help
and they said that they would do that
and they asked Jay to sign a release
and they woke the oldboy up
to ask him if it was okay that they talk to Jay
and the oldboy scribbled his name
on the paper and zonked out
and the nurses talked to Jay
and Jay made ‘em promise to do the good stuff
they said they would
and then he left
and went down the elevator
to the parking lot
and lit a cigarette
and felt sad and sorry
for the oldboy.
*

-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications

Small talk is shrinking/
Soon, there'll be nothing left to say/
Awkward silence/
Choking on existential dread/
Broken ice/
The future bones of former frienemies/
As throwing knives; time paradox/
Don't ask me why I'm cold/
Hypothermia/
Not here, and she knows it/
My spirit animal: a lobster in the ocean/
Of a seashell/
My real self is hidden, and/
Heavily encrypted, I/
Hack it into pieces/
Until my core splinters.../

CLAWS OUT/
SCRATCH MY BROKEN RECORD/
I'M NOT A PLAYER/
I JUST CRUSH:****:DESTROY A LOT/
MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE/
MAKE A DECISION/
WAKE UP FIFTEEN YEARS LATER/
IN A BOX/
AND EVERYBODY HATES ME/
INCLUDING MYSELVES.../

I am not normal/
I cannot talk small/
I'm thinking about cutting out my tongue/
Like Oldboy./

I would have loved to teach you
Chinese chess
And Muay Thai
Or even Brazilian Jiujitsu
Staining the mats
With sweat and stolen caresses
A serious session
That just might transition
From full guard
To full-on French kissing.

We could have watched Oldboy again
Together this time,
Or Glengarry Glen Ross,
My favorite movie.
And you could have shown me
A film major's favorite movies.

We could have tried the tacos
In Chupacabra,
The salmon sashimi in Sugi
(Their fresh sea urchin is the bomb, by the way).
I could even have cooked for you.
My vichyssoise isn't bad.
And you do love potatoes more than your own family.

Kayaking in the south,
Roadtripping all the way north,
Visited the stone houses and the honest folk
Of the northernmost islands.

Held contests
To see who could drink who under the table.
Your weakness is beer,
Mine is soju.
Could have seen who could hold whiskey better. 

I was dead serious too
When I said I was serious
About taking you
To the West Indies and North Africa
For that pilgrimage of yours.

I was prepared to hear what you had to say
About the things you see
The spirits calling to you
The dead dancing like wisps at dusk
Demons chasing you;
Skeptic or not,
I never would have minded you waking me up at 4 AM
To tell me about your latest vision.

Run cigarette companies out of business
Introduced you to my friends and my family
Listened to you sing and
Allowed awe to seize me again and again
Written a hundred poems in praise
And read your requital ones.

Kissed under the stars,
Talked in the dark
On the sand
Until 3 AM,
Exchanging yawns and hugs,
Bumming smokes off of each other
And greeting the sunrise
With a bottle of local moonshine
Bought from the fisherfolk.

Taken you shooting
9mm, .45, even 12 gauge.
Entwine my arms around you
Whisper in your ear
Inhale the cordite in the air and the smell of your skin
Teaching you shot placement
That you're pulling the trigger wrong
And hold your breath a bit and don't flinch.

Played Skyrim and CoD all night long
Yelled ******* at each other
While kicking *** on Tekken
And swapping spit in between rounds.

Made friends with your beagle
And discussed a life together
A dog, a cat, maybe no kids.
Just one, if ever.
Argued over names for the kid.

We had a real connection, too,
But, oh well,
How was I supposed to know
That you were just looking for cheap thrills
For transient pleasure
That the 'connection' was probably just one-way?
Maybe I'm just stupid.

I'll just have to find someone else
To do these things with.
Someone better, smarter, funnier,
But none of your legion of issues
The truckloads of your problems.

Have a nice day.

I scratched lyrics into the walls of this dump they call joint
finally became a tree with branches, wrote new raps every night
working out like crazy, punched my hands into walls
just like oldboy, then i became steel, endlessly tough

as my lucky number, this eight
tizzops became more popular, but never an other
sticking out my chest, ******* away all stress
albanians against serbs, greeks against turks

everything broken, everything in shards
but then comes Marissa, and she's calming me
i'm getting calm, getting calm, become
the old tizzop again, a ******* and thief

but everybody likes me, I remain --
tizzops, spreading fistfights like the Klitschko's
and I'm the most faithful, when I really feel love
not just talking about females, all my brothers

get nuttin but respect, their souls are wit me
most peeps live rushing lives, in our rushing times
they talk briefly, cause they don't know their inner
i'm not ridiculing them, cause they simply lack the words

they are lost and questions are flowing out of their ears
since they have no brothers or sisters to lean on
lifestyle like a frantic slalom, but I'm not wit 'em
putting stickers on the franchise, just to get by

I dominate every day; like the magic of the night
my raps are mania for me, me, and for me
cause I love and I have *** with my lyrics
forever being a chaser: where is Jason, baby?

without him, I won't make it through the night
life is infinity like eight, I feed you a knuckle sandwich
can you hear my c**k whistling? dem are *******-songz
straight out of my *****, suddenly millions of fanz

I'd feel so at home in Wyoming;
Married to my television
Cigarettes for breakfast
I'm at peace with my shaking
Clipping branches of my tree
To feed my precious pets

I never played the game
Rolling dice around my teeth
But I keep my eyes on the window
Let the creeping wind in my belly
Be all that makes sense
Thrown like a doll in the corner
Unblinking for the longest time
Measured by the shift and click
Twisted legs coiled like cables
Sealing Matthew into his box

America's fables never spoken
Her reputation and misadventures undeserved
Fit like latex on an amateur surgeon
My cardboard house unfolded
Everything in a tanned leather briefcase
I just forgot the combination
827 - 125 and the button slides

Why can't I leave my things in a crate
And ship myself off to a Grecian island?
I could be sung to sleep
Just as in my room
But now, my dear Johnny, Oldboy,
It's gloaming on Elysium
My chest is still beaten upon
I file the cold edges round
Empty another carton and call it a day

Yo, yo. Hey listen! My name is Po

I may be slow but I gots flow, ‘case you didn’t know
Pay close attention / Here I go—to detention...

For cussing, & huffle-puffin’,
******, smoking the slytherin
Inhaling deep your doobie doo
Handcuffed to my bed, that ***** too.

If  you want your Biblical holies read,
Give to get Head,
Part your pages, A sea that‘s dead
(Yes way, through prophets says:
Let my peoples go!”)

Down in your downtown
before pounding sounds
of *** resound,  
In honeymoon suite, on carpet, plush
I’ll become a lush as you gush,
Lost angels in Sin City, The LA rush
Come drink up the flow, mines and yo’s.
Now you know I’m Po
Fosho
Just another lost soul, Oldboy MC
Got flow? come drink, smoking trees,
Sin city, Je suis. Fini.

memories, when i was eight years old
neighbourhood filled with rich people
except us, parking lots packed with lambos
on tv, they showed rambo, my fatherfigure

cause i ain't never had one, he abandoned
the family early and found himself a new one
never did he show remorse, faith was a strange word
and when i visited my father, i felt strange there

like this strange word, believe me friend, i did fight
banging innerly, bloodpressure 180, kids gangs and spray cans
until i caught a psychosis, without even realizing
songs of my shadows, and i grew myself a plumage, like birds

when i flew out of the window, and didn't notice the danger
third floor, big shock, well ---
but not one broken bone, yeah: tizzop's angel had spoken;
and i fell in love with a girl, summer holiday *** and some ****

soon, i was looking for god, and prayed without hands, in my head,
in my dreams and the soul, i was spraying on walls, didn't know boundaries
so the cuffs were clicking, so my luck had to line up

and i scratched lyrics into the walls of this dump they call joint
finally became a tree with branches, wrote new raps every night
working out like crazy, punched my hands into walls
just like oldboy, then i became steel, endlessly tough

as my lucky number, this eight
tizzops became more popular, but never an other

Mundane/
My memories overlap/
So I don't know what I've done yet/
Or what I'm gonna do when it happens/
Again for the first/
Time is a scratched disc/
Skipping through/
Time is a scratched disc/
Skipping through/
Yeah/
I've got some nerve/
Oldboy, with a broken tooth/
Limping like a ****, but... my left foot/
Not in my right mind/
In the wrong/
Time is a scratched disc/
Skipping through/
Chapters/
Again for the first/
Smack him in the face/
Always told myself that I'd do it/
But when I saw double/
I instantly knew I would become him/
Then forgot/
The future looks a lot like the past/
I'm not present anywhere/
Skipping through./