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.
i fuckin love this guys stuff….great work man….I mean I really really really like it…. one two three punch I’m on the floor kind of stuff….I love it when I run in to great writing like this….thanks much