A Warm Hug From God

She was
twenty-one,
a stripper
and a single mom.
She was pretty:
blonde hair
and
enormous
green eyes.
I watched her
shoot up
one day
on the floor.
She cooked up
a pill
in a dirty spoon,
and then
injected it
into her arm.
Her eyes
glazed over;
I asked her
what it felt like.
She told me
it was like getting
a warm hug
from God.
She mumbled
something else,
then
nodded out.
She passed out
softly,
slowly
against a dresser.
I walked outside
to smoke,
leaving her
with her
Higher Power.

Commerce

I watch
old women
push
shopping carts
in and out
of the Dollar General.
They buy
the most
mundane things:
shampoo,
pretzels,
paper towels.
They walk
their carts
to late model cars
in the
hot sun.
They put
their items away,
softly,
carefully
and then
drive off
to mid-size
suburban homes.
I sit
and watch them,
chain-smoking
my Pall Malls.
Their lives
are ticking by
and my life
is ticking by
in this
tiny parking lot
in the
middle of
nowhere.

Poetry Super Highway

Hey guys:


     I am the poet of the week at Poetry Super Highway. You can view it at http://poetrysuperhighway.com/psh/

Tattoos

He sits
outside
of a store,
drunk,
wearing a wife beater.
He holds
a bag of beer
in
one hand
and a cell phone
in the other.
He tells me
he's
waiting
for a ride.
I notice
his last name
tattooed
across his arm
and a scar
on his
neck.
The phone rings.
"Where the
fuck are you?"
he yells.
We sit there
for a few more minutes,
waiting.
Eventually,
a car pulls up.
He gets into it,
sets down his
beer,
and waves goodbye.
They take off,
into
the darkness,
into the unknown,
into
oblivion.

The Ginger Collect

One of my poems, "The Plague", was just published in the new issue of The Ginger Collect. You can view it here:


https://thegingercollect.com/issue-three-the-ginger-collect/issue-three-poetry/theplague/

The Hurricane

Cars pile up
on the highway,
bumper to bumper.
Everyone is out
looking
for gas
and water.
The whole county
seems caught
in some
wild
apocalypse.
They say
the wind
could tear
your roof off.
They say
the flooding
will be over
our heads.
Everywhere
is the sound
of
beeping horns.
People shout
into cell phones
like maniacs.
Maybe
these are
End Times.
I walk
into a store
filled with people;
I buy
a can of soda.
A pretty girl
with a big smile
stands
behind the counter.
If we're
going to die,
I'd like to die
quietly,
next to her,
in a warm,
comfortable bed.
She grins
and hands me
my change.
I walk
outside
into the chaos
of the coming storm.

Bitchin' Kitsch

My poem, "Mutants", has been published in the September, 2017 issue of Bitchin' Kitsch magazine. You can find it here: https://issuu.com/chris_talbot/docs/bksep2017issue
It can be found on page 13.




Note: Please click the enlarge button to see it full-screen.

Suicide

She and I
walk
through a park,
holding hands.
She used to
work here
in the summer
as a kid.
She tells me
it was
quite a popular site
for suicide;
every year
they would
find someone
hanging
from the rafters
of a shelter.
We talk about
the horror
of it all,
and then stand
by a stream.
I look over
at her:
blonde hair,
green eyes,
her face
fresh
and alive.
I lean over
and kiss her lips
as long
and as hard
as I can.

Former People

Two of my poems have been published on "Former People". You can click this link to view them: https://formerpeople.wordpress.com/2017/08/02/two-poems-52/

The Day Michael Jackson Died

I remember
where I was
the day
Michael Jackson died.
The announced it
on the radio
as my girlfriend and I
drove
to the liquor store.
People were
calling in;
everyone seemed
so sad.
"Thriller" played
as she walked
inside
to get vodka.
We talked
about it
all night
as we
downed shots.
At 2 a.m.,
we got into
a fight.
It was
quite brutal.
I ended up
drinking alone
on the back porch,
while she passed out
in bed.
Not all of us
can be pop stars;
some of us
are common drunks.

Control

He is a
big man,
about seventy;
I had never
seen him
at a meeting
before.
His hair
is white
and his face
is battle scarred.
He tells us
about his
newest problem.
"The only thing
I can control
is how I react to it,"
he says.
He leans back
in his chair
with his arms
crossed around
his chest
like two pieces
of lumber.
He goes on
to tell us
about his first
thirty days.
I stare at him,
nodding,
knowing.

The Wild

We drove around
the city
in a beat up
used car
with no money
and
no direction.
Our love was
loud
and furious.
We drank
warm beer
on park benches
and lived
off fast food.
Her mother
hated me
and everything
was a blur.
We fought
all day
and made love
all night.
But that
old car
never
let us down:
it carried us
down avenues,
down highways,
out past
the city,
past the farms
and the graveyards,
deep out
into the
wild.

Alone

Outside
thunder rumbles
through the clouds
as I sit
in my bedroom
wondering
how it all went wrong.
Maybe it was you;
maybe it was me.
Mostly,
it was me,
with the vodka,
fighting
and insanity.
I want to
call you,
write a letter,
reach out,
explain things
somehow.
But I don't.
I just
sit in my room,
alone,
listening to the rain
pound on the roof.

Palm Tree Ashtray

A man stands
outside
a gas station
begging
for spare change.
His eyes
sink into his skull;
his white shirt
is stained
with grease.
I walk up
and hand him
two dull grey quarters.
He thanks me
and tells me
he's been sleeping
outside
for two weeks.
"This too shall
come to pass," I say.
He nods his head.
Two pretty girls
in short shorts
climb into
a brand new car.
The store manager
comes out
and tells the man
to leave.
He walks away
and waves
goodbye.
It's hot out
in the parks tonight;
hot enough
to melt
hope.

Noise

The world
is a loud
cacophony
of sounds;
the noise
makes my head
throb
and ache.
Stressed out
suburban mothers
yell into cell phones;
shiny new cars
scream
down the highway.
I almost
can't stand it
sometimes.
I want to
push a button
and shut it all
off.
No matter
where I go,
it
follows me.
But you
were so quiet,
with your stray cats,
sly grin,
and pale hands
that held on to mine
in the
soft quiet
of this
dark bedroom.

Fake Tans and Beer

I launch a
ping pong ball
into a red Solo cup.
Girls in
short shorts
with frayed ends
stumble around
the living room.
It's a sea of
warm bodies
sipping vodka
and chain-smoking.
I see a girl
on the porch
standing next to
a beer keg.
I pick up my drink
and walk towards her.


Later that morning,
lying next to her
in bed,
I get a slow,
sick feeling
coming over my body.
It starts in
my stomach
and winds all the way
to my head.
I cough,
roll over,
and try to fall
back to sleep.
Outside,
a garbage truck
pulls up
to carry away the trash.
The sound rattles
through the bedroom,
through my mind,
to the very core
of my being.

A Long Pause in a Small Town

This town feels
empty at night.
I wander the streets
and see
beat up cars
drive the strip
and tired faces
frown
in the darkness.


Two kids
on dirt bikes
cruise past me
in front of
a gas station.
They swear
at each other,
spit
and keep riding.


I know she's
out there:
some pouty faced
creature
just looking
for love.


I stare out
at the street,
slowly sipping
my iced coffee.

24

She is tall and lanky
and struts past me
as I sit on a bench
outside of a busy Walgreen's.


I call out to her;
she vaguely remembers me
from a meeting
six months ago.


We begin to talk.
"I've relapsed," she says.
She has a brown bag full of wine
on her thin, white lap.


We talk some more
about meetings
and her new job
and a car payment that is due.


After awhile,
there is nothing left to say.


She excuses herself
and I watch her walk away,
one towering beauty
stumbling towards the void.

Love Me

She looks at me
with her emerald eyes.
I can feel my heart
pounding
in my chest.
There is an ashtray
on the nightstand.
I reach over
and mash out
my cigarette
as hard as I can.
I lift up
her shirt and
begin kissing
her stomach.
"Do you love me?"
she asks.
I nod my head.
"Really love me?"
I look up at her
and smile.
In the distance,
a stray dog
wails out
into the still darkness
of the suburbs.

Misdemeanors

There's a new girl
who does
community service
at the thrift store
near my house.
She is a beauty:
blue eyes,
blonde hair
and high cheek bones.
I often wonder
how she got in trouble.
Was it drugs?
Theft?
Vandalism?
I see her
put away ornaments
the next aisle over.
Her hands are
delicate,
like a mannequin.
She walks past me
to the back
of the store.
I start to leave
and wander by
an old woman
pulling a cart
up to the counter.
I sigh, thinking
of how often
I come here.
The blonde and I
are both
prisoners
of this
ancient store front
in this
empty town.

Bark

I want to talk to her,
but I don't
have the guts,
so I stare intensely
into a cold mug
of beer.
The juke box
blasts pop music;
the crowd
sits around
and chain-smokes.
The noise
makes my heart
shake
in my chest.
I wish she
would look over
and talk to me,
slowly,
softly,
the way you
would talk to
a wounded dog
as you tried to
comfort it
back to health.

A House In Pasco County

Past strip malls,
past palm trees,
out past
a crumbling cemetery,
we pull into
this oil stained driveway.


The door opens;
cockroaches scatter
across the carpet.
A television blasts
music videos
in the corner.


We call up girls;
no one answers.


We drink until
3 a.m.
and listen to
Eddie Cochran
on a cheap
plastic stereo.


We talk like maniacs
about things
we'll never do.


Outside,
in another town,
something big
is happening.
I can just
feel it.


I close my eyes
and let the vodka
sink
way down
inside.

Two A.M. Poem

I walk through
a parking lot
at 2 a.m.
and see two young men
hand a cigarette
back and forth.
There is a full moon;
I'd like to
howl out
into darkness
like a wild animal,
but I can't
seem to move my lips.
I walk home,
alone,
in silence.
I crawl into
an empty bed
and think of
the shape
of your lips.
Are you lying
in bed
alone
out there, too?

Land Of The Free

We stood on a dock
at midnight;
the four of us were drunk
and chain-smoking
Camel Lights.
The girls looked like
magazine advertisements
and the boys stood tall,
trying to look tough.
We passed around
a bottle of cheap vodka
and talked non-stop
as the pale moon
hovered over our heads.
There were no problems then:
no lost years
had passed us by.
The world seemed wide open,
waiting for us to conquer it.
A shooting star
passed through the sky
and disappeared in the distance.
I'm going to live forever,
I thought to myself.
I'm going to live forever.

The Waiting

I wake up mid-day
with a headache.
My hair is greasy and
my eyes are red.


I walk outside
and yawn
under a bright
afternoon sun.


I scratch my stomach,
walk inside
and daydream
as I stretch out in bed.


A million
crazy thoughts
ramble through
my jagged mind.


I wait for the phone
to ring;
no one ever
dials the number.


As the sun goes down,
I walk to A.A.
After the meeting,
I sit online
for hours.


Before bed,
I look at myself
in the mirror.
My skin is dry;
my eyeballs feel
like they are sinking
into my skull.


I'm waiting for you
to come back
home.

Venues

Those girls
at the punk shows
in the late 90's
always looked
so good:
pink hair,
tight shirts,
and Converse All-Stars.
They seemed
so glamorous
standing near
the stage.
I could never seem
to capture their
attention.
They were always with
vicious,
tattooed,
muscular young boys
in leather.
I would sit in the crowd,
chain-smoking
cheap cigarettes,
just watching,
just waiting,
as the band
played on.

Knife

She went through me
like a sharp diner knife;
when I looked down at my chest
there was no heart left.


You should have seen it,
it was like a horror movie:
chunks of blood and bits of gore
strewn all over my room.


I tried to hang on to the pieces,
but they were sliced apart.
She had completely
rammed through me.


Nothing remains inside
after a person goes through you like that.
All you can do is get up, slowly,
and wander away.


"Why did you do this to me?" I asked her.
She stared at me with big doll eyes.
"Because I could," she said
as I backed into the darkness.

Out Into It

It's a chaotic world,
full of cars,
bikes,
trucks belching out exhaust
and buses carrying people
to minimum wage jobs.
The faces come
in all different forms:
some scowling,
some happy,
some staring down at the ground.
Small children
clasp adult hands;
old women
push shopping carts.
A rich man drives by
in a shiny black BMW.
The people are
angry,
joyful,
bored,
sullen
and everything in between.
Aging drunks
sit in front of the bar
gulping down cheap beer.
Young girls walk by
in orange bikinis
on their way to the beach.
It's a strange,
loud,
crazy world.
I light a cigarette
and walk out into it.

Monday Morning Heat

Seagulls dive
in and out of the sky.
The blazing sun
radiates down on
the skin of my cheeks.
It's a lazy Florida day:
no work, no money
and no direction.


I walk along a causeway
and notice
beer cans
lying in the sand.


I pass a pretty blonde
in a hammock.
She smiles at me
and waves.
Cool breeze
passes through
my unwashed hair.


The wind is strong;
sea waves crash against
cement blocks.
Cars drive
up and down,
heading for the escape hatch
of a crowded beach.


I turn around
and walk back.
On the way,
I see a beat up
old car
with a homeless couple
sleeping
in the front seat.


I wander home
and contemplate
this beautiful
wasteland.

Dark Skies

Rain pours
on the roof
as another day
passes by.
The moon
hangs above
like a lonely orb;
wind howls
through the city.
I picture
drunks
lined up
at downtown bars.
They are all
numbing
the pain away.
The television
is on:
it's the dull sound
of nothing.
I wonder
where you are,
and if you are
sad tonight
as I smoke
a Pall Mall
and stare
into a
jet black sky.

Gone, But Not Forgotten

She climbs out
of her car
in front of Walgreens:
an old woman
wearing sunglasses.
Her hair
is a mess,
her skin is like
tight brown
leather.


A Virginia Slim
dangles from
her lips as she
slams the door.


This is a tired town
full of tired people.


I bet she was
a real beauty
at one time;
I can picture her,
twenty years old,
turning heads
on a beach
in Miami.


But that was
a long time ago,
and now,
she smirks at me
as she wanders into
the liquor store
at noon
on a sunny
Florida day.

Vandals in the Night

Two American boys
walking through the suburbs,
drunk,
stare into lit windows.


The ground is covered in snow;
a cold wind blows over the city.
They pass a bottle of vodka
back and forth.


One picks a brick off the ground,
finds a window
and throws it.
There is a loud smash.


They run away,
laughing.


Later that night,
they are both back in bed.
Snow has stopped falling:
the city is dead quiet.


Outside, frost covers
the old buildings and factories.
There is a peace;
Christmas is on the way.