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.