the f u dance

update

whoa
january is done
when did that happen
where the hell am i
snapping out of some long convoluted dream
that seemed so real
and now slips away

been up to the i teeth
in work and school and
and
and
but now
cracking the lids
i see there is much to be done

oh
i needed the break
the scrambled eggs for brains syndrome
had to be worked out
but so sorry it took so long

a shot and a beer and i am out of here

cheers

rest in many pieces
poor ol frankenplow


so
my creature
all rough and rust
all feisty fighting
all the swears to whatever god would wreak its might
to smite that horrific yet endeared
gm nightmare
are lost
like tears in the rain

not exactly

more like
i got five bills for the plow kit
and the rest of the piece of shite
lies brooding in my yard
waiting for the coup de grace

oh
ill miss it
like you miss your first bout with the clap
or like you miss the ice cream after you get your tonsils removed
but
the scars are deep
and my memory is quite good

the time it bucked me off the bridge
sliding down the embankment
destined for water
save for a lonely hemlock
that shattered its way into the door and fender
all noise and diamonds of glass
the lesser of two evils perhaps
but evil nonetheless

or the tire that flattened
in three feet of snow
buried in a ditch
and the drive to the tire depot
thirty miles away
in a blizzard
only to return
to dig and dig and dig
the bitch out
to jack her up and retire her
oh ill retire you
i screamed at it over and over
chuckling the gallows giggle
knowing im destined for doom

or the starter death at ten below
or the clutch meltdown that screamed a pitch so brutal
my teeth hurt thinking of it
or the fuel pump fiasco and the engine box afire
or
or
or

the list is quite endless
and all with a new string of expletives
insuring understanding of my sublime disappointment

its all over
a new plowkit
on my new truck
i dont get filthy or soaking wet
i can even plow in a suit without fear
and theres heat
and i dont have to scrape the inside of the windshield for frost
and the wipers work
and so do the brakes and steering
its like living a nightmare
of hailing dismembered bloody kitten parts
and broken glass shards
only to awaken
sandwiched between two nubile teen swimsuit models
on a blanket
in st thomas
really
its
like
heaven
by comparison

will i miss her
maybe
like when one traces an ancient nasty scar
with a remembering finger tip
that pain was real and deep
but
i got through it

ah

oh
i dont get asphyxiated every time it snows anymore either

guess the brain will last a bit longer now
which
is always a bonus


sorry
two one twelve
happy ny

ping pong

i have watched
these two adult children
play pingpong with their son
for years now
hes yours no hes mine
she doesnt love you enough
im the only one who cares
etc
etc
etc
as they try to grow up
in a perpetual state of me me me

hes smart
hes tough
and
he will likely end
their little game
in some brutal way
when the pain of their selfishness
exceeds his tolerance

i hear him ticking

deep in his eyes
he tells me
soon
real soon


sorry
two three twelve

n ice

suddenly ubiquitous
a glazy shimmer
and the blinding glare
i hold my breath and wait for the crash
the taste of metal in my mouth
another card played
in brain injury poker

i fold and
im outta chips

the blue sky screams in my eyes
as the back of my head
melts a divot
in the vicious ice


sorry
two three twelve