mn
::
poetry
10:3H ?M, Monday Night
He's a sonuvabitch
she said
a real asshole
but I guess you have to feel sorry for him.
We ate some more cookies.
It was dark outside
but you couldn't tell in the train station.
What happened?
I said
drinking some juice coldbutted
footsore on cement waiting.
They were chocolate chip cookies
dry thirsty sweet.
Okay, she said
He was driving one night
home from something
and some drunk hit his car
ran a stop sign took him out
like pool balls seen from above, clicking
and his face was all smashed up
but he didn't know it yet
he was in shock, you know.
So he got out of the car
and yelled at the other guy
splashed him all red
From the smashed-up face you see
something like 200 stitches.
He was in pain that we cannot remember
coldbutted sorefooted chocolatethirsty waiting.
His friends(sonsuvbitches?) and he went
to New York City and got drunk.
He had to drink through little red cocktail straws
(200 stitches)
and couldn't really talk very well at all
--didn't have much to say about hurt
so he drank through straws
and his friends drank too
til it was time to go.
They were so damn drunk
falling over
hipchecking tables and taxi doors
rushing to the train station
for the last one home.
Cold and drunk on the platform
his bestfriend leaned over
elbows on his knees
to puke or clear his head
but leaned over too cold and drunk
and fell into the trackway
landed, scrambled drunkenly in the chestfelt sound
a quick splash of red
That's terrible
I said
eating another cookie.
Our train came then
and we stood up
walked
--pretty slowly
across the platform
and quietly got in.
After a few minutes
we came above ground
and saw citylights again.
You really have to feel sorry for him, she said.
Last modified: Oct 24, 2008 2:28 pm.
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