"walgreens" poems
I got sick of shaving
Every day
So I started growing a beard
For a while, it was technically stubble
But now it would make William T. Riker proud
Or at least smile and nod in approval
At the effort
I bought a beard trimmer at Walgreens
And I trimmed that *****
Made it nice and even
But it itches a lot
So I have to use dandruff shampoo on it when I can
I get compliments on it
From my mom and my brother
Whose beard should belong to a Canadian lumberjack
(Not my mom, my brother)
I love this beard
But I still get the urge to shave it completely
And return to baby-face
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
Walgreens pharmacy girl
your upturned nose and your hair pulled back
here to pick up my prescription and a snack
Walgreens pharmacy girl
Ive been coming here for years
and every time I leave the drive-thru I'm in tears
Walgreens pharmacy girl
For so long, I've loved you from afar
yet still I have no idea who you are
That's Berger, B-E-R-G-E-R
Walgreens pharmacy girl
My date of birth again? I would have already memorized yours
I'd remember our anniversary, put the toilet seat down and do chores
Walgreens pharmacy girl
Am I anything to you besides another bottle of pills?
I have to know now because not knowing just kills
Walgreens pharmacy girl
Will you refill my prescription for love?
Basking in a pharmaceutical moonlight, under the stars above
Walgreens pharmacy girl
I need a cure for what ails me
You've given me a fever and I'm feeling a bit dizzy
Walgreens pharmacy girl
No, I don't have any questions for the doctor, but I have two for you
What time do you get off? And what time would you like to?
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 9:00 PM UTC
I’m thinking of the faded checkered pattern that has been
smoothed away by time on the dark cloth seats of a Nissan Pathfinder
driving down Ryan Road on a hot day in June.
My mother, in the front seat, singing along to a Spice Girls cassette.
I’m thinking: red, plastic, crab-shaped sandbox and
McDonald’s Happy Meal toys.
I’m thinking: light princess pink, seafoam green, and robin’s egg blue.
I’m thinking of a framed cheetah cross stitch, hanging on the wall of what
used to be our bedroom at my grandparent’s house.
I’m thinking: Barbie doll houses and Hot Wheels and a cul-de-sac at
the end of the street.
The sweet smell of cigar smoke. The ice cold splash of the garden hose. The pop of a bubble. The sting of soap in the eye. Dreams by The Cranberries. As Long as You Love Me by The Backstreet Boys. A HelloKitty boombox slowly spitting out vapor when the deck builders hit a power line while digging. The deer in the backyard looking for corn. The faded wood of a playset that was never really played on.
My father: sitting alone on a splintered bench by the firepit at the edge of the woods, empty beer cans at his feet, chain smoking cigarettes, and humming along to a song that is stuck—forever stuck—on the tip of my tongue.
I do not know if this happened. I cannot ask him.
(I’m not sure if I would want to ask him.)
But I can make an educated inference that that line of
fiction is really nonfiction.
A memory that feels like a phantom limb.
Sounds like the sharp crinkle of static.
Covered in a gossamer, dreamlike haze.
There is a distinct otherness to this memory, to who
I think I was before the trauma.
We are two different people. A yin and a yang. A day and a night.
The hermit crab is soft beneath its hard shell.
The asbestos is not apparent within the insulation.
You cannot see the lead in the paint.
The mold inside the fruit.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 2:46 AM UTC
we walked by the haunted house
and made out on the front porch
people say we fell in love at first sight that evening,
but i couldn’t see until the morning
and that beautiful birthmark that covered half of your body
i ran my fingers across it
like some kind of seamstress
and you threw my legs over your shoulders
and bit my fingers and i couldn’t stop looking at your birthmark,
it looked like a scar
and i asked you to drive me to walgreens
something about a plan,
what we were going to be
but we got lost and tangled
and my kitten bit our ankles in the kitchen
where i made you black coffee and i rubbed my eyes
too much, too much, i broke a blood vessel
honestly way too much
i was scared of the bruises on my thighs
and i thought i wouldn’t see you again
“i’ll never see him again”
so i drove to walgreens
and the girl at the counter judged me,
and i bought a donut
you're some kind of cinderella boy
leaving a broken cigarette under my mattress
your birthmark left a stain on my eyelids and my hands
and i forgot to ask your name
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
***** Jersey
You are unworthy
From the infamous Jersey shore
To the depths of Bergen county
You hound me
Thank god sandy got rid of that cesspool by the way
Anyone ever hear of Lodi?
No?, ok... Moving on,
New Jersey, the ideal place for parents who have small children
Once they are teenagers
They will rip their parents apart for condemning them to a suburban hellhole
For sentencing them to an infernal purgatory, where if you have no car, you are stuck at home, and unless you walk to a bus stop and take the bus somewhere else, you have no job
So you find your best friend...
Marijuana
And then you start selling it and you now have a job
Drug dealer.
Find a pill counter who works at Walgreens pharmacy and you have now
expanded your market
Oh ***** Jerz, for grey-ish skies
For sewage waves of stain,
for unemployed and worker slaves,
all for minimum wage.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
I didn’t storm out
but there was thunder in my head.
I bought a pack of cigarettes,
that usually helps.
usually.
That’s why I started walking
to shoot straight
with these hungry pigeons.
There was this crinkly man
sitting against a Walgreens
who asked me for change,
said he hadn’t eaten in two days
so I shelled out a knuckle of quarters,
and gave him a fresh Turkish smoke.
I even lit it for him.
And as I was leaning over him,
tenderly holding the flame
to his shit-out-of-luck lips,
that’s when it hit me-
that’s when cliché materialized-
misery loves company.
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 3:33 AM UTC
One pill, two pill
Orange pill, blue pill
White beads, pressed ecstasy and some ****
Gluttony, greed,
My real sin is debauchery.
Gram of this, gram of that
marred my memories, myelin mortuary.
Skin, bones, but no fat
I'll eat gelatin capsules that can only subtract.
Artificial enthusiasm in Walgreens jars.
Decadence lost opulence to tolerance of bars.
Still I solicit any alter:
self-indulgence for Bacchanalian revival.
Hedonism's propensity,
mankind's perpetual denial-
but not for I,
the lotus eater
with the omniscient third-eye.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
You're a cold walk in December when it's snowing and I forgot my coat.
When I'm shaking and shivering running into Walgreens because their heater is on.
You're a brisk wind and a fast paced argument that happens on a Sunday afternoon in church.
You cursed in front of your god for me not believing your beliefs.
You're a Saturday afternoon breakfast because I woke up to late and hungover.
When the food got cold because I couldn't find the asprin and broke down in tears on my kitchen floor.
See you're the reason I fell in love and the reason I drink to much of the hard stuff instead of tea.
But you don't understand that yet, which is why you still watch cartoons Saturday morning, and I cry alone in bed.
You're a cold walk in December when it's snowing....
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
I’m counting the freckles on my skin.
I’m tracing the coffee-splotch birthmark on my stomach.
I’m biting my nails and cracking my knuckles and
thinking about the Old House.
I think it’s sort of funny how in an entire life,
with all its seconds and all its moments, and
all its memories, only some things really stick.
There used to be a time where I prided myself
on my apparently “flawless” memory; I forget
things all the time. Like
my mother’s voice
my father’s face
my grandmother’s eye color.
I fear that I’ve forgotten the most
important parts of my childhood.
I remember daddy’s race cars,
mommy’s wine, the time my sister
slammed the van door on my head, and the
time I kicked the bathroom entrance.
Last week I opened the photo albums from
under my mother’s bed and I’ve
already forgotten all the things that I
finally figured out that I forgot.
Sitting on the floor, surrounded by one-hour
Walgreens prints, I started to pick open a
wound that I did not even know was there.
My dog’s ashes are still hidden, a copy
of my mother’s Will is still missing, and last
year my step father found prepackaged
“emergency escape bags” in our basement
along with $250 cash inside the
cogs of our whirlpool.
I’ve heard stories of how my mother
kept documented journals of my father, but I’ve
never had the guts to ask for them.
I’m beginning to wonder what kind of people
my parents really were. I’m beginning to wonder
just how much of my childhood
I’ve forgotten
and how much of it
I’ve lost.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
Drift off to sleep among
Hordes of orange sheep in the fields
Behind the Walgreens
Not the one you know but the one off that
Long road to nowhere we went on once while looking for
A place so desperately different from the one we found
Where you can crumple up a newspaper and throw
It up into the clouds, waiting for hours without even a
Whisper from its knowing pages
Beside the factory and
Inside they make little boys and girls into great
Law-makers and road builders who have lost their ways and
Dreams and wishes somewhere inside the world's collective furnace and
May never return to the
Land of the crayons
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 6:21 PM UTC
we wandered in the incandescent halls of walgreens,
my fingers stitched in your back pocket, your freckles
painted.
1:13, two teenagers with nothing but anxiety attacks
and drunken *** keeping everything
together.
i hummed to a made-up
tune.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
I got three.
Degrees.
One shy of a phd.
And I'm dusting shelves
At Walgreens.
Too young for ss;
Too old for bs.
And hr.
I fell in the black hole
A million times two.
Maybe the third
Million's the charm?
Ima keep clicking,
*** the fed got bloodhounds
On my cell.
Chasing that 55k
I can't pay.
Or won't...
In solidarity with
The underemployed...
Dusting shelves
At a Walgreens near you.
~ P
(#HRblues)
4/10/2014
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
I want to see your blue hole
That little spot of misery that you process alone. I jump out of my bed and come after you, you turn your head, this isn't something new, when I shuck off your clothes, just to get at your little blue hole. Some times we can't escape our peace, we can't find relief, I reopen my eyes just to see your face, my mouth works so hard, my hands beating against your legs, while we clamber back into your bed, and like the graves kept my monsters and thieves, there's not an acronym of you I'm not chasing after hedonistically. I'm that heathen for you that you've been grieving for me. And I'll take you down, to a little place outside of town. Where no one we know has been. Don't forget me. Don't forget please.
Tuesday at sundown we awoke by the beach, on a colorful blanket I'd stole from Walgreens. "I might throw up! I've got bubble gut, and period pains. These mosquito bites are driving me insane! Won't somebody shoot me?! Shoot me in the head?! Make the itching stop?! Take this nausea away?! Just don't forget me....don't forget me!" If it's been twelve hours I'll take my sublingual please. Can we look for rocks? Agates, Jaspers, and things? Maybe some green sea glass we can use to make ourselves some rings? "You're taking off?" No. I'm flying steep. It's the reason my eyes grow wide, the reason I'm sweating. If my imagination is a game, our true romance is my campaign. I'm winning right? I'm getting points, I'm swimming right? These furry limbs are all over me, just when you shout and remind me, to stop moving-
We climb back to the bed, and cuddle instead. I wrap my hands tightly around your head, and whisper soft. I whisper to you, "Please don't leave to go into the little blue hole too." "I'll never leave you." "I'll never leave you, you say." "If we're real lucky we'll die on the same day." I hope it happens that way, just don't die on me first. Otherwise I'll totally go berserk. Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Don't leave me, or forget about me. Don't forget about meee-e-e please.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 2:33 AM UTC
the sinking sun keeps calling
poetic bones and walgreens; three am
flinging glass, nightmares, explicit
circles of the wind
singing into daybreak
shutters slamming shut; flickering eyelashes
and flopping into pillows fluffing up
shifting clouds of how you smelled
porch swings, heartbreaks
capturing breezes soaking skulls
red wine and "oh-take-mine"
tracing outlines imprinted
swaying grass lays flat
where you were,
but the summer sun keeps calling
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:35 AM UTC
Candles lit,
And the lights are low,
“Night Moves” By Bob Seger
Set the background tune…
This is a perfect moment
Just waiting to happen.
Reminiscing about
Smokey shot-gun kisses,
And long nights
I can’t forget…
Staying up
Just talking…
We’d go on and on
About whatever
We could think up…
Still those days have past,
You and I
Have moved on,
Leaving times
Such as these
In the dust.
Candles are glowing,
And all sources of light
Are dimmed…
“Alive” By Adelitas Way
Plays over and over
Like a Goo Goo Dolls song
I used to sing…
Taking me back to
Standing out on the slow songs,
At all the school dances…
Reminding me,
I’ll always be this
Hopeless Romantic…
Someday I’ll find him,
But for now,
I just dream…
Candles start to flicker,
And the lights in the room
Begin to get dimmer,
As the sun begins to set outside
The song “I Will Be There”
By Art Of Dying
Is ringing out my laptop screen,
My mind starts to dream,
Back to the days of childhood fun,
Back in the day,
When we would run around
Like we ran the West Side of town.
Riding our bikes up East Pass
Just to hang around
The Walgreens and Papa John’s
Having fun
And forgetting,
Someday we’ll grow up…
Sitting on my apartment floor,
All grown up
And on my own…
I light one more candle,
The Guardian Angel lights up,
Sometimes I just
Have to remind myself,
I’m not alone…
This new place,
Isn’t far from home,
But every now and then,
I have to remind me,
It’s not too far away…
Same goes for all these memories,
They’ll always be here,
Sitting in my heart
Waiting for someone
To ignite them
And let them burn
So when I return,
They’ll be warm and cozy,
Making these four walls,
A little less scary…
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
It rained at the 7/11
and I strolled to the gas station
the thin blur that passes into my vision
and smiles
Coins for the cigarettes
trying to see your ID
from 1:20 to 2:10
to that roof
rolling your ********* joint
and listening to the pigs drive by
we walked to the bus stop
then to the walgreens
we found water at the school
warming your hand
before you walked me home
faces drenched in the rain
wishing to get back sane
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 3:48 AM UTC
I have a notebook I
Write in everyday.
Poetry and songs
Even your name
Somehow gets twisted in
The words I write.
What will it take for you to
notice me?
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
Brush me away
With a new color
Every day,
On blue day
You're sad
And I can't
Stand around
Your tears,
Hand you a Kleenex
And you
Brush me away,
On yellow day
You're too happy
And I can't be
A part of your joy,
I try to give you
A high five
And you
Brush me away,
On green day
You're sick
And I am no nurse
I try every **** thing
From the Walgreens
I hand you medicine
And you
Just brush me away,
Never can seem
To get through to you,
I'll never be seen
From behind these colors
Splashed camouflage I didn't ask for...
APAD13 - 027 © okpoet
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
We were a walking cliche,
unoriginal straight from the desires of beauty
to evolve into prosperity
that was doomed from the start.
I went from this awkward mystery,
to a playful, loving,spontaneous boy
that just so happened to say things that at the moment
sounded beautiful,
but beauty isn't always a dull blade and it can
still cut for years on end.
It started with the first letter.
written on a Walgreens card,
and it soon turned to Eskimo kisses, and we'd cuddle,
until it was too hot and sweaty,
and I would write notes, and underline in my favorite novels,
then I'd give them to her to read.
I was never comfortable enough
to eat in front of her because the butterflies
she gave me, filled my stomach.
And when she kissed me,
it often felt like her lips ****** the air out of my lungs,
or punched me in the rib cage, and
I couldn't tell the difference because both would leave me breathless
and in pain.
I'd talk to her in different voices, like
Batman or Count Dracula,
and I'd tickle her and then we'd play fight,
and it was so cliche but I loved it,
and I told myself from the start not to get attached to her,
and I didn't for the longest time,
until one day she looked at me and I knew I had ****** up and
I couldn't just detach myself because sewing yourself
to someone isn't that simple.
**** that was long and unnecessary.
The moral of the story is,
it was all cliche which made it that much easier
to fall for.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Mama's hands were smooth and cool
When she pushed my hair back and told me not to worry
Because sometimes mommies and daddies fight, but that's okay.
My childhood stretched before me
A long dirt road where daddy's absence hung in the air like
The sour smell of whiskey
On his breath
When he tucked me in at night
He always had the same shade of lipstick smeared on his neck
I found it later in a Walgreens downtown
Revlon number seven, Not Your Mother's Mauve
How ironic, I thought.
Because Mama never did wear lipstick
I remember nights where she sat in the living room
Painted blue, she kept her anguish in a secret place
Where I am not, and daddy always will be
She kept him there
Suspended in a light
Not of scrutiny but of love
And I hated him for it
Because my mother's loss would tear her apart
And I was left behind a closed bedroom door
The grieve for my happy family.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
*Born Again in the bathroom of a ***** hookah bar*
This morning I stood in the shower
with the taste of last night in the back of my throat
when I did blow off a bathroom sink
in a West Harlem hookah bar
with a girl I used to think I was in love with
who split lines with a razor she carried in her purse.
She giggled as she nicked her finger
and drew a cross on my forehead,
though neither of us were religious.
I thought that I would've offered her my body as a canvas
and let her baptize me with only humming fluorescent lights
to bear witness.
We did lines with an old walgreens receipt
because we didn't have a dollar.
We liked the sound our bones made when
we crushed our bodies against the grimy tiled walls.
We chewed each other's lips to a pulp
and mistook them for cherries in late August.
We clawed our skins raw
and sang of Eve, or Adam's Rib Cage.
That night I drove home with open windows
as the warm December mist settled on my face.
I said 10 Hail Mary's
and picked my nail beds until they bled.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
Your face is in the trash at Walgreens,
because I printed out a group picture,
and you were in it,
so I cut you out.
You don't deserve to be in my college
photos folder
with all my good memories.
Maybe if you didn't think I was a liar
and if you were a little more caring,
your face wouldn't be in the trash at
Walgreens.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC