The Worst

I write the very worst kind of poems:
unrhymed, untimed, flat as two-day-old soda.

And still,
And still, I dare to write them down.
Just because I think.

This is the very worst kind of poem.

don't write much anymore

me and matt and some old man
standing on a downtown street.

and the old man heckles folks
coming from this sort of yuppie type bar
with a large wooden door and
crap all over the walls inside

the world was blue under the street lamps
people were stumbling through this thick wooden door
wobbling out onto the street still drunk,
grinning madly, bumping against each other

the old man is standing a few feet away
right outside the door
holding out a palm and waiting patiently
but when they gave him silly looks and nothing else
he begins to shout

"sure, sure! old man cold on the street!
means nothing to you! ya drunk fucks.
do yore parents know yer out?"

and we began to think he had some kind of beggar wisdom
because he was calling every single one as it was.

two men and a woman walk out arm-in-arm,
jostling back and forth, sharing smiles
and he yells,
"y'all be good! hear that? y'all be good!"

we laugh so he walks up to us
he holds out a hand and we pass out some change informal-like
just a business transaction.

and he says, "you guys want to know something?"
looking at him, i see the sores covering just his hand.
he's hunched over and his stocking cap is black with grease.
his arms are brown bones.
"sure, brother. you tell us, brother."

"when you look toward the mountains," he says.
and i do, which confuses him and he stops.
he looks at me and starts again.
"when you look toward the mountains..."
i look again. we stop again.
"when you look toward the, uh, mountains. ahwhw, shit.
whass the diff'rence 'tween
a beautiful blonde hair green eyed woman and a turtle?"

i am asked this.
everyone waits for my answer.
matt and the old dirty beggar sage stare at me. so i think and i say,
"one is youth and innocence and beauty and the other is age and wisdom."

beggar man pops his eyebrows up and down. "naw, man, nawwww," he says.
"when they get on their backs, they're both fucked."

beggar man looks at me for a second.
"you live in a world of bullllllshit, dontcha?"

don't write much anymore.

crown o' gems | darkwaves+larkwings sky

jewel@gleeful.com
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