"sonofabitch" poems
The silver fog slithers around
my ankles, slowly winding up
my legs with a serpent's silk move.
Squeezing her fingers, my mother
and I approach the barn-red house.
It breathes heavily and its exhale
reveals a backyard cemetery.
As the mist settles, a limestone
hand reaches out to ****** her away.
Down the street the dollhouse neighbor
cannot see me screaming, weeping,
I call for help.
Brown-green water drips from
the bathroom ceiling--
the plumber continues plumbing.
Sweat beads form on the tip of
the fat priest's nose, as he climbs
the broken stairs, he continues preaching.
The porcelain girl wears her mother's
brown-stained ivory prom dress.
Chanting, Sonofabitch. Sonofabitch.
They cannot see me--
I flail my limbs.
They cannot hear me--
Their own cursing drown out my voice.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 6:06 PM UTC
Mother bear in a waterfall
With bigger thoughts than blonde harlots
Eating porridge,
Fallen starlets with outer space in their hair.
Just you wait;
I'll be the happiest little sonofabitch
You've ever seen.
Some small consolation, if any.
That weekend we spent with our
Necks perpendicular to our spines,
Of course I still remember the films we watched.
I condition my hair with split infinitives
And live off the poisoned dew that settles
Every morning in my closet.
Turn your little black dress inside-out,
I've got this magic idea for a recipe
But we're going to need some ants
And that crazy Harryhausen dream you've got up in your attic.
Ten or twelve little blond kids up
On the cliff, each ten or twelve years old
And dancing with a flame-Buddha called "Home".
Let's spend this week underwater,
I'd much rather give up my weight and my due
If it ensured me any small hour
With you. Oh, god how I love you anymore.
I may have told you this a while ago,
But did you know the first Pledge of Allegiance
Put us some good height above God?
Sometimes I find the sugar in my gas tank
Makes for a rough start in the morning,
Not that I particularly want to go anywhere,
But it's what I've thought that counts.
He's a bit upset that I skipped movie last night:
But I can't play horizontal baseball
With my violent, violent imaginary friend.
The Rubik's cube beats deep in my chest
Without a hand to cheat and rearrange the stickers.
Claude enunciates something queer into my ear
And turns off the lamp with a snap.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:19 AM UTC
You think you are someone of great strength in mind,
as you belittle all the people around you,
for the sake of not appearing kind,
because it was the only thing you knew.
Taught to be tough and a big boy,
you can go and use a gun as a toy,
become accustomed to the ability to destroy.
As you see nothing wrong from stealing the light in one's eyes,
being the artist of their demise,
as you ruin their families lies.
BANG, BANG, BANG,
goes the gun in your hand,
over a dead body you stand,
just as you planned.
Put that hit on that sonofabitch,
it went off without a hitch,
now you a man who put someone in a ditch.
The only sacrifice is morality,
but you are so young, you don't see the brutality,
only the gangster mentality,
so you can live in the violent normality,
not realizing that you have lost touch with reality.
But that is a life that no longer belongs,
replaced by coke, *** and bongs,
you will never know that what you do is wrong,
until you hear the bell's gong,
and it is you who is gone.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC
Dewey Dell Bundren
Had her baby
And ran off to college
Worked single-mother hours
To keep her ****** apartment
And never missed a class
She married the first theology professor she could find
The kind
With the horn rimmed glasses
Drinking imported scotch
Discussing literature around the fire at night
She got a degree
At Northeastern
High honors in history
She never knew all those books were about her
And the people she came from
The places
Had their stories told
In the pages
Shaped everything she had ever known
She was grateful
For her history
And once a year made the trip
Back to Jefferson
Mississippi
Put flowers on her mother's grave
Still tasting
the bananas
Hearing herself saying
"Hadn't you ruther"
Still hearing Jewel
Cursing softly
******* you, ******* you"
"You sweet sonofabitch"
Still seeing the mules
Swollen
Floating
Bellies up
Past Cash and the coffin
Leg broken
In that biblical spring flood
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
You stupid sonofabitch.
I hope you burn less than you did when you were here,
and that maybe you finally caught up with the monster you were chasing.
We still drink to you
on days like this,
Glasses raised to the day you showed up,
Broken bottle on the back porch to forget the day you left.
Oh, and pay your mother a visit sometime, she misses you so.
She's been saving lives in your name for years now,
but the kids are still dropping like flies.
Tell her it's okay,
that she's done her part.
I guess I just miss you.
That heart of gold is still the talk of the town, but I remember the black fingers wrapped around it much better,
And I want you to know that I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I didn't save you.
So tonight I'll drink
Not to the ashes on the mantel or the flowers on the grave.
But to you.
Happy birthday, Matt.
Wherever you are.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
I remember climbing out my window,
skulking off into a violent blizzard.
Lost in teenage anguish,
my feet carried me forward through the storm.
Two a.m. and a mile I out I realize,
I'm walking towards her house
Panic slammed my body like a tidal wave,
my nerves vibrated,
shaking the bitter cold.
I carried on determined.
No plan of action,
just full of **** and vigor and something...
Something I hadn't yet known.
The walk up her street is done with tremendous effort,
like swimming in jello.
Standing outside her house,
I'm suddenly aware of another obstacle.
I don't have a cell-phone.
Which window is her room?
Assuming it's upstairs, this is fifty - fifty you sonofabitch.
Take the risk.
I throw a small stone but hear it explode like a firecracker on the window.
Silence.
I reach for another when a soft voice calls my name.
We stand in the street and talk for a while,
holding one another.
I'm sorry, I can't stay, they probably know I'm gone.
I just... I just wanted to say goodbye
I walked backwards the whole way down the street.
Streetlights and snowfall created an amber aura around her.
That,
was the first time I knew what love was.
Sometimes I think it was the last time, too.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Mt. Rose rises
10 thousand feet
Of treachery, deceit and defeat.
Every storm
Every wind
Every drop of flooding rain
Every blowing snow
Converges on this terrain
Until no visibility remains
The glistening diamond asphalt promises riches
But that doesn't remain.
That son of a ***** has tried to **** us many times.
Its serene moments
And panoramic views are a lie
For its treachery
Resides in the one false
Move when you can't hide
And you are sliding
Side to side.
Twerling
Wherling
Spinning
The landscape flying by
The blowing snow
Blinds your eyes
It comes at you
Horizontal
Lateral
It comes from below.
Doing 360's
The back becomes the front
The front becomes the back
The blizzard sweeps you up
And all your doing
Is going along
For the ride
Wondering
If
You are going to
Survive.
A magic finger
Stopped
Us there
The cliffs and the air
And we hang suspended
With the panoramas and vistas
Right there
A foot or two
A foot or two away.
All in all
That son of a ***** has tried to **** us many times.
It's become a symbol and a sign
Of knowing we're okay
Because unless
I'm sliding sideways
Down
Mt. Rose
Everything is nothing
But my mind imagining
Treachery, deceit and defeat...
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:05 AM UTC
In a land where only rich folk have chins; lived a man. Ugly and Dim. He was as bright as a flashlight in the afternoon hours. A terrible thing, having thoughts devoured. A drought crossed the land where Ideas once grew now lies a place for neither me nor you. We heard of boy. Quiet wealthy, quiet rich, but deep down a real sonofabitch, who rode ‘gainst the grain and then disappeared. Never to be heard of again. What a shame to lose the lose the mind of young Ugly and Dim.
I heard a tall tale, or call it a fable; for the lessons quite clear.
It’s a lesson about Ugly and Dim, two brothers in fact who had such an act at the travelling magical show. Dim had the knowledge and Ugly had the looks.
They’d learned their tricks from the book called Don’t Pay Your Dues, and they wound up all burnt .Except their shoes. Which stood centre stage, where would-be magicians light up in flames, a blaze of ashes.
Such gasps from the crowd as Ugly and Dim began to singe,
and turn crisp and begin to burn, that’s how they fried.
Some soul cried
“I can’t tell if they’re dead or alive!”
As the skin slipped over the skeletal bones
Ugly and Dim were exposed.
Liars and tricksters of illusion will meet an ill-fated conclusion.
Ugly and Dim will see you again, in your moments of moral confusion.
Ugly and Dim; the architects of such modern wonders of
“How things are today!” and “How they oughta be!”
Over 1 million copies of “It’s a you or me mentality!” sold!
Ugly and Dim are ever so bold for the romance novel: “How Love Gets Old”
Ugly and Dim are you and him,
or her and I, and us and them.
Sometimes I cry. I’m ugly.
Sometimes I don’t know answers, I’m dim
Sometimes I wake up and I make it through another day.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
Omigod, Donald T. ****
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.
It’s not enough for you
To have gold water faucets,
Crystal mirrors everywhere
And marble floors in closets
Now you want to play at
Being a savvy politician
Stands for Christian principles
From the missionary position.
Omigod, Donald T. ****
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
With a changing cast of women
You call your lawful wives.
And you’re the one who wants
To control our very lives?
You utter your vituperation
At poor and the non-Christian.
Is having the world hate you
Part of your final mission?
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.
You also want control of
Our country’s financial hopes.
If we fall for that stupid tale
Then we are a nation of dopes
Because you have bankrupted
More than the Monopoly game
Would allow a toddler to have
And that is quite a shame.
Omigod, Donald T. ****
You unconscionable creep,
You are disgusting enough
To cost us all sleep.
If lies were US dollars
You sonofabitch
You would truly be
Obscenely rich.
No, Mr. T **** please do
What is proper and fitting;
Call up the press and say
That you are finally quitting.
Tell them you were just testing
To see what the others would do.
So, kiss our collective ***** goodbye
And take with you that dumb hairdo.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
There may be a heaven
And maybe a hell
But there is one thing
I know **** well;
There are devils around
And they do their worst
To put the working man
Into a poor man’s hearse.
They hate poor people
And kiss the royal ***
Of those who they think
Represents real class.
And real class to devils
Is money beyond belief
So they side with the creeps
That hate welfare and relief.
They know what they are doing
And they do it every time.
They gleefully participate
In global-scale crime.
They pump up bank accounts
Of the obscenely rich
And call the working a man
A loser sonofabitch.
They buy the politicians,
Who are devils themselves,
And push helpful programs
Onto a dusty back shelf.
If it doesn’t make money
For the greedy one percent
Then any such bill proposed
On the floor is never even sent.
So, I do believe in Devils
Not so much of the rest of the book.
If you don’t believe in Devils
Turn around and take a good look.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
making a playlist titled you you you
taking a pill at the **** zoo
******* fools wasted on the pavement
chasing waists on the pavement
i'm tired of these ******* games you're playing
tic tac toes on the cusp of my aortic valve
**** hippocratic oath falsifying fingerprints
i am to you, just an oddball goodfornothing sonofabitch
semi-sweet curvature of the lungs
tar-coated nail-biting feminist *****
some uppity analyzing self-righteous bore
well **** you, too, then
**** you, too
i'll do alright in the world, got some chew
that i'll spit out a rhyme with, all that hullabaloo
i am those whos, on a dead *** dandelion making wishes on elephants (such buffoons)
and finding that donkeys are nothing but mumbling tools
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
This was the year we
All got our Lost Boys names.
(No, not the vampires...we're Lost.
On Neverland.
In Neverland?)
Pillows McGee first, I think.
"That's mine--you can stick it wherever."
"Awww...I want a Happy Trail."
Or maybe it was
Lucky.
For he truly was a lucky sonofabitch that night.
"It's nice when a guy gives your ****** back when he's done."
What's the most important ingredient to a friendship, Lucky? "Another person."
True dat, Lucky. True dat.
* all nod *
Smokestacked! She smokes! And she's stacked!
Inspirational. Charming.
"I'm always on a quest for a ******
VERY ADAMANT: "I don't like **** Snakes are okay!"
Forking Ariel
had quite a bit to drink. She wanted to know why she wasn't a lesbian.
She wanted to **** on the end...but none of us can remember the end of what, anymore.
We just wrote it down because it sounds filthy.
We like filth.
Forking Ariel lost her box at some point. Probably around the time
she told us
she doesn't **** the end and she doesn't just grab it.
...otter pops?
FLASHER!
"I'll get it with my teeth."
Yeah, you will.
Flasher gave the last Lost Boy their name:
"I'm gonna have to go for Bushless Red."
Lucky: "That sounds like a cigarette. There's nothing I like more between my lips than Bushless Red."
Bushless Red hasn't had a Happy Ending, apparently, but she likes her cigarette commercial. She's
Painful, Feminine, and Appetizing.
"I say we all do it on the bed, because--" ...giggles uncontrollably.
Dear Diary,
Today, I discovered that heaven is in Cillian Murphy's pants. Or Forking Ariel's.
Also, an important ingredient in a friendship is another person.
~Bushless Red.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
He, the rumpled bumbler,
Stumbled, mumbling, bungling
Through his self-made jungle
No mote of humility, his abilities
Were not inclusive of subtlety.
He settled for a public identity
Of propriety and normality,
Obvious hospitality but falsity
Like the nose on his face, exposed.
What a verbose, but artificial
Government official he was.
His cause was never for us
It was for that he was notorious;
How laboriously he dissembled.
But he resembled his opposition
Then took a position of submission
Until his mission was complete
Then he beat his feet in retreat
To those he knew could beat
The highest price and that was nice.
Twice as nice for rental cars
And pretty movie stars
Who weren’t too humble
To stumble the red carpet
With the rumpled bumbler,
Mumbling, no longer bungling
Through his self-made jungle.
Still no humility, a perfect facility
To take from the poor, give to the rich
And not care who calls him sonofabitch.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
Is it strange,
do you think,
that today has been
so terrible
and I still have
a smile on
my face?
Believe me,
even I think
it strange
considering
that the blueboy
was content
to submit falsehoods
in his effort to
fill this city’s
coffers with
my children’s
Christmas presents
before they’ve even
been thought of
Even I think it odd
that despite a myriad
of disasters, including
a coffee-fart
that moistened
the seat of my
trousers and sent
me scurrying
for the john,
and subsequently
the exit,
I’m still able to
grin.
Despite my chagrins,
in light of a day
filled with folly
bordering on
misery,
the silvery sliver
of hope shows
through.
I’m standing at that crossroad
waiting for The Devil to appear,
and I can tell that Ol’ Scratch
is close, close enough
that I can feel his gaze
inside this, a Wednesday,
a “one of those days”.
When the oldest kid
has puked his bed,
and I’ve got one more
mess to clean up
besides the one in my
drawers, but my shine
won’t dull, no matter
the ache in my skull.
‘Cause when Pitch is asking me:
“Boy, what’chu gonna do? I’ve been
havin’ a fine time messin’ wit’chu!”
I’ll say to Ol’ Pitch, that
sonofabitch…
“My fine, forked-tongued, fiend,
you can’t have no more of me,
for I’m hollerin’ down old dogs, you see?
Them dogs’ll run and hide,
I’ve got a fine crew by my side
into Thursday we will ride
and leave this ****** day behind!”
This is why I still smile,
because in just a little while
I get to have my rest
My lover’s head upon my
chest, my children in their nests.
Of tomorrow I’ll dream deep
while in the dark, I sleep
pondering possibilities,
probabilities, and simply
other reasons to…
smile.
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
AARP keeps sending me ****
Letting me know I'm getting old
Buy this insurance
"Die Happy With Us"
****
"Don't leave your loved ones in debt when you die"
****
"No one gives enough a **** to pay for your funeral"
Sonofabitch
"A place for Mom"
What the ****
Come get me!
Thou great Valkyries
Demons of hell
Angels of Heaven!
But you **** well better know,
AARP
Has got my *** covered!
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 8:40 PM UTC
everybody watch the **** out
there's a nineteen year old trying to get profound over here
it all started when I was kid
thinking
why am I not one of those poor bloated African kids on the TV?
why am I an English school boy sitting to close to a TV?
meaning
meaning
meaning
meaning that there has to be some reason for all of this
but I got older
dumber
jaded and bitter
and I think I've figured it all out
no really just hear me out
the meaning of all of this
from womb to tomb
is that there isn't one
deep,
right?
but life is like a cartoon fight
a cloud of dust projecting fist
boot
asterisks
wavy lines
and we're all in that melee
and we're all going to get our teeth kicked in
life's one tough sonofabitch
and it's been doing since before there was a before
my point being
you can't beat life
and you can't avoid it forever
all you can do is hope
that when that ball of cartoon extravagance has settled
you'll be clutching onto the things you need
the things you want
the things you love
and you'll still be able to stand back up
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
A,
pretentious guitar wielding battle warrior quoting Nietzsche,
listening to old songs they don’t play on the radio anymore
and burning at night, burning alive with smokey lungs and charred fingers
and curls soaked terribly from desert rains in May,
lankey arms exposed for hours at a time in hottest weather, basking in sunlight,
still keeping pale but maybe his eyes darken a little.
marron, they say in french, those pretty eyes with lashes like down,
so long you could sweep the floor with them.
what a baby-faced angel sonofabitch smelling sweetly of **** in the afternoons,
a walking catastrophe Dean Moriarty flailing arms around,
a terrible dancer.
a terrible lover. a terrible terrible boy.
involved in a menage a trois, no doubt,
by God he has all the little girls under his thumb,
under his bleeding fingers as he serenades them
songs they only know of because of him.
all the ***** characters from smokey back rooms in the 20’s, 50’s
he knows them all
and hammers out their songs bang bang bang on his guitar like a visionary
of jazz, *** pills and powders all secrets hidden behind his eyes.
The ******* child of the stars
I am forced to hate him
But my love for him gnaws away at my sanity
all his friends are cracked,
deadbeat downtrodden unlistened to voices of our time.
he says he is a pacifist, but he’s killing us all.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
Why are you shouting out loud?
Are you saying I am too proud?
Do you think I am undeserving?
If so, it is completely unnerving
That you don’t want me to own
What you see as yours alone;
A sense of dignity and hope.
You must see me as a dope
Who can’t see you getting rich.
You are one shallow sonofabitch
If you think just calling me villain
Will somehow make me willing
To give up my own free voice
So that only you have a choice
About how much I will make
And which decisions I take
About my own home and body.
Can you really be that shoddy?
Well, yes, I have learned you are.
You think you are a superstar
And are immune to decency
That your star is in ascendency.
Well, I really hope that it is not
And that your tail gets caught
In the door before it slams
And we see the last of your scams
And your nepotistic buddy deals
And get back to what is real
And proper for our poor nation
Instead of graft and intimidation
That makes wealth for a few.
Nothing for me, all for you.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
I'm torn (apart)
between
loving the big blue and green eyes that go on for miles when I look into them and the way you look at me with them in all their different flavors like curiosity and soft fondness and fire-like intensity and the way you smile with your one dimple and the way that smile tastes when you pull me in with your strong arms that I know won't let me go because under your breath you say 'mine' as you squeeze me tighter and the feeling of that breath on my skin as we sink deeper into a state of cloudy hysteria and everything in the world feels perfectly in tune as my head is on your chest and your heartbeat is the pentameter of it all.
im torn between that and
this old feeling of dread that as soon as you slip away from me I won't see you or hear your voice and yet you'll be trapped in my thoughts like a favorite song and no matter how hard I try I can't help but feeling like the tune is off somehow and I've forgotten some words but I can't think of which ones but the worst part is I feel like all this noise in my head won't be mirrored in yours and you won't hear the tune or appreciate the melody.
im torn (apart)
between
this harmony of yin and yang and you give me a head and I give you a heart and how you say "id be a cold-hearted sonofabitch without you" and when I ask if you're proud of me you say "Its rare that im not proud of you" and when I cry you look into my eyes like a blanket on an oil fire calming me down and reminding me where the ground is and you hold my hand when I'm scared and tell me "fear means youre growing, when its over you'll be glad you did it" and you push me to be bold and when you smile and tell me I slow the world down for you and that you like when I stroke your hair because you feel safe for once and how we even each other out softening rigid edges and sharpening dull blades
im torn between that and
knowing that when the harmony is askew we duel with those swords but not with each other, with our respective selves and I start wishing I wasn't too much and you beat yourself up for thinking you aren't enough and the air fills with a solid stench of resentment and confusion and im grasping frantically for answers and bandages as we both sit on the floor hemorrhaging.
I'm.
torn (apart).
between
loving you and knowing there are so many beautiful ways we're good for each other
torn between that and
wondering if that's enough to make up for the ways that we ruin the other.
and then I ask "what is love without ruin?" and "love is enough right?"
but im just
torn apart
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 12:26 PM UTC
I know I am a bad kid,
Things I did were awful
So I deserve every slap,
Every punch, every insult
Like “little ******* and
Sonofabitch. Everything.
Call me what I am as I
Have been appallingly bad
As a child, as an offspring,
An embarrassment to you.
Show me that ugly face
Of disappointment and hate
Because I was never a great
Reflection of your love,
Of your concern, your care.
After all, you feed me
You give me clothes and bed
And let me go to school.
I am a worthless fool.
I don’t deserve more,
And now, every smile hurts;
Not just desserts for crimes
Ones I committed all the time
Every day I now understand
Why your hand hit my jaw,
Slapped my face so often
I’m a disgrace, a shame
I don’t deserve your name
Or for you to look at me.
After all, look at me.
I’m horribly fat, look!
Those disgusting bulges
in my lower backside.
I disgust myself, completely
I look at myself and heave.
I wish I could leave and go,
Find someplace else
Where I can’t see myself.
So nobody else has to.
I can’t take back the wet beds
The expense you always said
Was too much, the touch
I craved back when I was young
The breath in even my lungs
Offending because I am bad.
I am a sad example of kids
And should be hid somewhere
So you never have to spare
Another moment on a bad kid.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
the sonofabitch tremor
from a tall cup of americano
i am somewhere in the heart of Libis
feeling the libidinous snarl
of trucks, the poignant treason
of leaves slamming against each other,
the bamboozle of the youth
this is my 5th poem sliding out
of my whetstone mouth
sharpening the dull blade of tongue
as the harum-scarum of the swivel
door crafts a rising hullaballoo.
spilling coffee on my ****** white
this sonofabitch tremor
terrorizes the purity of the *******
clenched against no succor,
eyes squinting in lachrymose fretting
palpebral shade of tossed out gray
caprice of clouds — no
more coffee
for me,
these words nudging me
keeping me awake with
persistence.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
Thou.
I can't think of a more romantic word.
and who was the genius who first said "thou"?
who distinctified another human being from all the other
"it's"
and realized that whoever that was, that first
"thou"
saw the world just as he did?
and perceived him just as he perceived them?
brilliant son of a *****
He,
Whoever he was,
was the first man to grasp true
empathy.
To identify with another human not as an object,
or an animal,
"but as another of himself"
an extension of himself.
himself.
itself.
thyself.
It is one of the oldest existing words,
and has not undergone any major change in tenthousand years.
Perhaps this is evidence that we were,
in fact,
built
in pairs.
Which raises the question of who the first "thou"
was
and his relationship to whomever first said it.
I like to think they were lying across from one another,
he and his partner
or she and hers
and it occurred to one of them that the person opposite them
saw
them too.
Thou art.
as I am.
Next must have come "we"
or some variation thereof.
Thou,
I,
thou and I.
We.
Us.
What was the brilliant sonofabitch who first uttered "us"?
I wonder if he died alone.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
She knocks on his door in the pouring rain
Shaking her umbrella, muttering an expletive,
It's only half past ten but she knows he's inside
"Open up, you sonofabitch!"
A face glares through the red and white shutter
"You know he's dead, you old witch!"
"Just wanted to hear it one more time",
she walks away, cackling wildly
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
It’s this recurring waking-dream,
especially on these blustery nights.
I can almost see the sheen of the mahogany
surface of the bar top.
I can almost feel the weight of the tattered
rag that sits on my shoulder.
Barryman’s is a place to come in from the cold.
There’s always a fresh carafe on the burner of the Bunn
machine.
Or, there are stronger drinks.
This is the place where you can talk to anyone about anything.
And, no one is ever wrong, because we all know that we all know
that everyone is full of **** but we like them and ourselves anyway.
Well, there was that one time that one poor ******* got the boot.
Everyone remembers that one.
He was hollering about how Winston Churchill could’ve made a better
cup of coffee in spite of his drink of choice being blackberry brandy
and how Kafka was overrated.
So, he was out on his self-righteous ***
Oh, how he did howl for a while, this piss-drunk sonofabitch;
but then we remembered that we’re all a bit like he was then
from time to time.
And, we retrieved him, his muffler, his hat,
gave him some coffee, a copy of “Catcher”, and a seat
by the fire.
***
-JBClaywell
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Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC