Thursday, November 22, 2012

Not Saint Louie

Like an old cigarette butt it smelled
laying there all indecipherable.
He rolled over the other direction
and was greeted by even more chaos.

The chaos that is a Tuesday night in East Saint Louis.
The poor parts, not the clean parts.
Part living, partly dead.

He grabbed for the one thing that seemed reasonable.
The horn felt cold to his lips,
must have been winter out.
Too drunk to have noticed he guessed.
The valves of the horn he pressed
but nothing would come out.
It worked when the weather was more seasonable
but now it gave him grief.

He threw down the horn
and decided to stand up.
Up like some great behemoth
rising out of the waters.
He wobbled over and took a piss.
Drained his lizard.

That changes your outlook a bit.
Shaking it just short of playing with it,
he looked for his pants and found them.
So, he could now get the hell out of here
whatever hell that was
and get some air.

Then maybe he could consider whether or not to go to work,
depending on what day it turned out to be.
Why would he do that he wondered
and turned from the shabby hotel
into a shabbier still bar
and ordered a drink.

The mopping barman
said too early.
Story of my life.

Too early then its too late.

mindbringer, 21 November 2012