Substance Abuse
Lately I’ve been drinking
too much
chocolate milk.
Breakfast
lunch
and dinner
at least three glasses.
I’m beginning to think
I have a problem.
An addiction.
Last night
strengthened this belief.
I dreamed
I was surfing
chocolate waves
on a Twix bar
while it rained
cocoa puffs
from a brown sky.
Edible airplanes
flew silken banners
that read
Have More Chocolate.
Room 110
for John
You told the maid
to come back in thirty minutes
with clean towels.
I was outside
trimming the motel hedges
when the cops arrived.
The maid found you
hanging from the ceiling
with a rope
around your neck
and your hands buried
in your denim pockets.
After the coroner came
the construction workers
from Alabama
tried hot-wiring your Ford pick-up.
The maid complained
you only left a three-dollar tip.
And the people staying next door
ran around excited saying,
“Did you hear what happened!?”
You were fifty-four years old.
Divorced with two children.
The last image of you
was with the maid –
your bare feet dangling
above several empty cans
of Miller High Life.
Looking For Axel Rose
The young girl
at the counter
insists
she’s never heard
of the band Guns N’ Roses.
She says
I probably can’t find them
because
“They don’t stock
really old albums.”
She goes back
to typing something
on the computer.
Her fingers are long,
each one
displaying a different ring.
I ask again.
She rolls her eyes
and bobs her head
to the store music.
After fifteen minutes
of more looking
for Axel Rose
I leave the store
humming the chorus
to Paradise city.
Thinking years back
to green grass
and pretty girls.
|