Read Hawaiian Shirts in the Electric Chair Page 4

still drink

  the sad

  wine

  and if i try

  i don’t

  think of

  her sometimes

  You Just Can’t win

  when you

  move

  to manhattan

  you meet

  a lot

  of people (mainly women)

  who come

  from “means”.

  they hang out

  in the marble

  lobbies

  of

  boutique hotels

  and drink

  fancy

  cocktails

  and talk a lot

  of shit.

  i met

  a girl

  on the job

  who worked

  at a “non-profit”

  where

  basically

  you asked your parents

  not to give

  you

  any christmas gifts.

  instead,

  you

  asked them to donate

  the gift money to the

  “non-profit”

  for just the

  one day, of that

  one year.

  our first date (our only date)

  went fine.

  she played

  the ukulele

  i played the guitar

  we sang

  taylor swift

  songs

  and looked

  at the domino sugar factory

  and when i said

  “let’s go to the water front”

  she said,

  “my apartment

  has a better view”

  later,

  i sat

  with

  a cigarette

  on her brooklyn

  roof top

  patio

  overlooking

  all of

  downtown manhattan

  and

  i

  thought about

  how nice life was

  to those

  who could

  forfeit their christmas money

  and still

  pay rent

  on an apartment

  with a

  roof top patio

  that

  overlooked

  all

  of

  downtown manhattan

  eventually i had to leave

  and i ate

  for

  the first time that

  day

  the one

  piece

  of

  dollar pizza

  i could scum

  up enough

  change

  to buy

  and

  all around me

  were

  one

  legged bums

  and

  mexican families

  with 30 kids

  and the short black man

  with no teeth

  who sang

  the lollipop gang

  song

  for

  some loot

  and

  i knew i’d never be her hero

  and it

  wasn’t even winter,

  every puddle

  i stomped

  through

  broke apart,

  but eventually

  when

  the ripples

  came back together

  it

  was

  still me

  i

  was

  staring at.

  she

  may have been

  the savior

  of

  the starved,

  but the next morning

  i

  had

  a text message

  that said,

  “you’re really

  nice, but

  i can’t

  date

  a

  bellman.

  it just

  wouldn’t

  look

  right”.

  it was

  another

  night

  i abandoned

  my dog

  for

  a woman

  that i’d never

  get back

  Give A Lozenge To The

  Voice Of The Archangel

  they called me at

  work and

  told me about

  a rainy new jersey

  morning,

  about the bed

  full of vomit

  the dead kid

  and a mailbox

  full of cards

  saying

  “happy 20th birthday”

  some people

  wanted to know

  why.

  they asked god.

  they asked the quiet

  boys in the back

  what they knew.

  but

  there’s only

  one

  way a kid dies

  when there’s

  no car

  crash

  we heard it

  was a persian

  connection

  whose cousins

  or father

  ran the oxy ring.

  they jumped in the car

  so mad

  and red eyed

  their heads

  would have to be

  removed from

  the body

  to stop the

  hate from swinging.

  but the persian

  connect

  didn’t fight back

  he just cried

  and the hate stopped.

  something

  so black

  it exists

  in the corners

  of all eyes, we can all see

  it, and when we recognize

  it in others

  it becomes impossible

  to pretend your tribe

  is not

  my tribe.

  so there

  they were,

  letting humanity get

  in the way of revenge

  again

  we called him

  “little”

  (he shared his father’s name)

  and before

  the oxy’s

  and the

  new jersey highway

  nights

  he planted

  a seed in the backyard,

  a little maple.

  i don’t know

  why I always remembered that.

  when people grow up

  you only know them for

  all the times

  they’ve fucked you

  or fucked her.

  but when

  you get them young

  it’s

  the times

  they’ve reminded you

  there’s still beauty left

  in the world

  that get you

  the funeral

  was

  an old testament

  betrayal.

  three blonde angels

  cried at the casket

  and proved

  what we all know but never

  say,

  there is no god.

  they buried

  him in a t-shirt

  and jeans

  because he

  was a kid

  and he was cool

  and honoring him

  in an honest way

  kept everyone honest,

  nobody could lie

  and say

  he’d gone to a better place.

  i cried

  for the first time

  as a man

  and it felt like

  one more tattoo

  had been hammered

  in to
r />
  the surface

  of my heart.

  back at my aunt’s

  she held me for

  too long,

  she said

  “i lost my

  little boy. he looked

  up to you”.

  all i could say was

  “he was

  a cool kid”.

  i looked at my aunt

  who

  had lost

  her little boy.

  his father,

  a bulldog of a man

  that life had finally beaten.

  my three

  blonde cousins

  might have thought

  about the day

  he was born,

  or the men they would

  marry

  that would never

  share the

  alter with their

  brother.

  and i thought

  about all the friends

  i’ve had that

  died

  or went to jail

  and the reason was always

  the same: Heroin.

  and once

  again

  i hadn’t seen the signs

  that were now so obvious,

  and i never reached out

  though everyone needs it.

  outside,

  the seed “little” had planted

  was now a tree,

  but nobody mentioned it

  i went home

  and

  my girlfriend

  said throw them out. take

  a break.

  hasn’t enough happened?

  i told her i did.

  but i didn’t.

  i ate them

  all of them

  and i drank,

  i knew i might die

  but

  i probably wouldn’t,

  and at least i

  would feel

  better for

  a while.

  i should’ve told

  “little” about what

  the suburbs and boredom

  could do.

  but he was a smart kid,

  we shared the same blood.

  i should’ve told him

  about the fear

  and what

  it

  can do

  ***

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  mike morley, sarah miniaci, sean keenan, caitlin, kalias, trebuchet-magazine, horror sleaze & trash, joey b,

  stephanie georgopulos, garbanzo, shabby doll house, lucy k shaw, negative suck, drunk monkeys, fjords review, bill berry, aaduna, prairie wolf press, crack the spine, katy rozad, commonline journal, neon highway

 
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net

Share this book with friends