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.




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