KEEP IT UNUSUAL,
YOU SEE IT AND IT’S THERE,
SHOTGUN BLASTS ON SHEETROCK,
I felt like i had a boiled egg in my throat this allergy season,
“you know my youngest nephew shot his finger off
fiddling around in the kitchen doing dumb shit like that,”
Oh, will you just relax, watch me nail this quick draw, KA-POW!
tracking all of the drinks consumed
while reading Adam Johnson’s
covered in sharpie and suing for peace:
>Ayinger (tangy bavarian hefeweizen)
Bud Light (room temp)
We Sake (served chilled)
a riff on a penicillin (Suntory Whiskey)
light roast black coffee (no cream)
>miller high life (free of charge)
half shot of Meletti (shared with the bartender)
Toso Sparkling Brut (cheers)
Poppy’s Pils (on tap)
ice cold Michelob Ultras (3x)
Budweiser 6pk (minus one that my gay friend took)
>water with no ice because the sun is a bitch
and the american south is a war-torn hellscape
“oh god here we go again
with the pronto pup soap box”
pov ur suckin my d,
manchild shit,
bro are u using tongue,
sick nasty dude;
“the biscuit is in the basket”
that’s a stupid code phrase
“shut up, just say it”
the biscuit is in the basket
“alrite, here ya go, and remember, don’t open it;”
my dad’s old neighborhood buddy out in east Tennessee transferred over a briefcase and my dad was tasked with driving into southeast Missouri to deliver the contents of the briefcase to a boy scout troop reunion camping out by the black river; when the briefcase stayed the night in our home, my dad gathered the family together, “this is so fucking pulp fiction, holy shit,” after two clicks the leather package opened, it was filled with a collection of old embroidered merit patches, notebook paper letters written to family back home, and old canoe trip photos; you could smell the happier, younger moments of laughter, friendship; under some folders, though, was a rusted tin can filled with the old scout leader’s ashes;
toddle on, toddle on into an active classroom and the crowd gets a real hyena out of the look on your face, rising action, your spaced with no trousers again, shyster nonsense, presentation hysteria masked behind wisteria, you notice the teacher up at the front laughing, the students are taking notes, the teacher grabs at her cuffs and walks to the greenboard and then you see her whites, she rolls her pupils up at the top of a chalk outlined pyramid apex labeled “climax” hanging over her head, begin falling action;
what do you mean i fell out of the crib??
you fell, i mean, you just crawled out
was i okay??? like did i sustain a concussion or
or get a big cartoonish lump on my head??
you were fiiiinne, don’t worrrryy about it
“oh, so it’s just tha tur of ya then?” outside spiders string up cots in tall wine glasses, don’t worry about the tall poppies, just bring me parsley and tarragon mixed in a sixth pan; desire sings Winnie the Pooh and rubs my back like my mom used to do; my neck pops like a wood panel floor, open tab, german x-ray castration; “it just seems as if waking up is a golden invitation for new pain;” i’m dreaming of being choked out by hornet stings, sooner or later i’ll find myself in a higher place outrunning my own self-aversion;
is the beer in the fridge still good?
“i mean, the mountains are blue, so;”
why are you smiling at your phone,
“oh, i got a poem published online
and it only makes sense to me;”
“man, i really need to start fucking some1
who knows how to fix windows;”
how am i doing, oh, you know me,
i’m the champion of all bad guys;
“why do you only got one wing, mister angel?”
________
Morgenrede drinks cheap beer and plays pinball in and around the American Midsouth. He has recently published a book of poetry entitled ABUSER with Pig Roast Publishing.
Morgenrede is on X/Twitter @metadegenerate