BoySlut

five bangs

 

he holds up his meaty privileged right hand

his fat virginal fingers

 

five bangs, he says again

 

the other kid stands there looking at the hand

like it’ll produce a moist cunt

 

he stands in awe of his friend

tallying up the amount of bangs in his head

 

unaware of his close proximity

to such a bullshitter

 

five bangs, i repeat to myself

still waiting on the bus

 

more than likely, five bangs in his head

 

of course, you never know these days

with the way these kids dress just for attention

 

they leave nothing to the imagination anymore

 

their young asses

their young legs

 

maybe all of these kids

are little fuck monsters now

 

maybe five bangs

is a low ball estimate for this idiot

and i’m just getting too old

 

married and long past

five bangs with a young girl

 

too blinded by trivial adult survival

to see a player playing his game

right before my tired and squinting eyes.

 

packs of girls

 

packs of girls

sit huddled in

bright rooms

together

complain about

the air conditioning

complain about

the heat

can tell the

difference

between regular

cookies and

diet cookies

eat bag after

bag of tortilla chips

say the worst

things to each

other tell the

worst stories

about each

other tell

each other

to shut up

call each other

cunts and whores

laugh at

fat people

laugh at

boys laugh

at old people

laugh at

their parents

talk about

television

and how they

get so bored

that all they

can do is eat

and watch

television

worry that they

are getting fat

tell their friends

that they

are getting fat

make fun of

hunchbacked

grandparents

smell each other’s

breath to see

who has the worst

drink coca-cola

by the gallons

have no

inside voices

watch the dumbest

films

read the worst books

pack of girls

are like aliens

stalking this planet

trying to claw

out each other’s

hearts and minds

packs of girls

become packs

of women

who do the same

terrible things

to each other

packs of girls

make me glad

that i was born

with a sack of balls

a penis

and a shorter

lifespan

on this god forsaken

earth.

 

depression

 

coming back

on the job

after only one day off

hungover

exhausted and hysterical

i tell her

that i daydreamed

the office burning down

with nothing left

but hot embers

pulsating

in the fog gloom morning

to which

she told me

that hating your job

is a sign of depression

which made

me realize

that i’ve probably

been depressed

ever since

i was a paperboy

and tossed that first newspaper

inside that first doorway

back in the good old year

of 1987.