the year I applied for work
as an instant drunk,
my application described me
full of hustle,
and able to slide over to some vacant
creaky barstool
without singeing the ends of
a barmaid’s stringy hair with my half lit stogie
while considering her swooning away
into her personal ecstasy,
her latest fire
yup, in less than a year I officially
got fired as an instant drunk
over repeated blues chords burps,
accused for slouching while stirring
mixed drinks reticently,
interrogated over lingering onto the echoes
that sound made:
buuurrrppp…and
becoming enamored by the jangle
of the rebound it made
so this is mainly how my adolescence was spent
down in steamy Chunky, Mississippi,
comfortably confused
another youth buried and forgotten
in those balmy Bayou trenches,
another punk playing dropout hooky
from the infamous
Tupelo Technical School
7/74
Bisbee, Az