I’ve been living on hot dogs,
waiting on a paycheck.
I drink harder, trying to pass out
before I grow hungry again.
Hungry, I can handle hungry.
It feels pretty good, sometimes.
Hungry is a cheap high.
I take a big pull from the bottle.
I’m not rationing the liquor,
that’s always in the budget.
I peek through the curtain
towards the bar across the street.
I should be a good boy, and stay in tonight.
I walk in, order a Bourbon,
and sit at the far end of the bar.
An angel in blue jeans asks me to buy her a drink.
I oblige, and pocket the peanuts
when she isn’t looking.
We don’t get storms around here,
the way we used to,
when I was young.
have been neutered,
and the tornadoes
tend to gravitate
that would have died soon,
The mechanic and the grocer
see their impending destruction,
and say to themselves,
“It’s about goddamned time.”
The taxman grinds his teeth,
and Death counts his money.
It’s a little short for Spring,
but it’s gonna be a bumper crop,