I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail
in my old torn bathrobe.
I'm hung over
hair down in my eyes
barefoot
gingerly walking on the small sharp rocks
in my path
still afraid of pain behind my four-day beard.
the young housewife next door shakes a rug
out of her window and sees me:
"hello, Hank!"
god damn! it's almost like being shot in the ass
with a .22
"hello," I say
gathering up my Visa card bill, my Penny saver coupons,
a Dept. of Water and Power past-due notice,
a letter from the mortgage people
plus a demand from the Weed Abatement Department
giving me 30 days to clean up my act.
I mince back again over the small sharp rocks
thinking, maybe I'd better write something tonight,
they all seem
to be closing in.
there's only one way to handle those motherfuckers.
the night harness races will have to wait.
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Comments
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vivid and detailed
vivid imagery... i like the part about DAMN! like getting shot in the ass... its not enough to kill ya, only annoy you and piss ya off! i like his work. -
And write something you did, this is a good picture of the thought processes behind a simple walk to the mail box.
This does make one smile, but proberly because we can see our selfs in this piece so clearly.
Andrew -
Hahahahahahhaha. Never before has a stroll to the mailbox been so much fun but I have to disagree........make the motherfuckers wait and not the night harness races.
jenna
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