you’ve tasted steel

so much it’s familiar

a slashing smile

between lips parted wide

inviting the filth

a reminder of yet another mistake

another story

insignificant after the fact

scars

visible under indifferent scrutiny

the dried blood

proves you were there

He fancied himself as “stoic.” Alone in the darkness, silently sucking a briar pipe, he watches snow swirl under the street lights. Nothing can touch him now, and if it does, one would never be the wiser.

This resolve had only come about in the last year or so. Prior to that, he would complain about life’s hardships to anyone who would listen. The injustice of maturity and all the aches and pains that accompany it.

Years of working for the man who stopped caring once production slowed had left him bent and twisted. Now, he shuffles his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, hoping he makes it in time. Assuming he does, like today, the ritual of the pipe follows.

As always, during quiet times like this, his eyes fall upon the image of the only woman he had ever loved. She had been there through it all. Never wavered in her conviction, no matter how bad things got. This year will mark six years since she was ripped away by that horrible disease. Time meant nothing though as his rage continued to glow like the tobacco in the bowl.

His son, now grown with a family of his own, stopped communicating with him after their last fight, nearly two years ago. Sometimes, the old man considers apologizing,  the kids are growing up so fast but then the familiar indignation sets in and the calls are never placed.

His friends are all gone, either dead or wishing they were as they rotted away in a home. This was the reason for their fight. It was suggested that maybe it would be better for all if he were to move to an assisted living facility. Every time he thought back to that conversation he became angry again. They didn’t care about him, they just wanted the house and the property that went with it.

The house and what few belongings he had in it were all that was left. A musty reminder of a life that could have been wonderful yet never achieved. A lifetime of excuses and accusations, when smiles were few and the stress neverending.

He used to drink. Justifiably so, in his solitary opinion and this was the catalyst for many disappointments. Drinking allowed him to complain with impunity, so he did, and he became quite proficient at both. Ironically, it took the passing of his sweetheart to make him quit.

His new-found sobriety did nothing to change his pessimism, however. He was still bitter and his constant complaining was an irritant to all within earshot. His sponsor informed him he was a “dry drunk.” His response…” Fuck off!” and they never saw each other again. Looking back, the guy was probably the most honest friend he ever had.

Within the last year, however, a distinct change had enveloped him. A resolve to quietly endure… to accept his fate without the all-too-familiar grumblings. Never again would he allow the world to see his pain and frustration. No one will hear his fear. He will remain stoic until the bitter end. Because in the end...nobody really cares.

The first rays of the morning sun startle the lingering chrystals in the sky. His pipe, extinguished for the last time, falls to the floor.

I got so used to the shit

I didn't mind the smell

when black days turn to years

and there's no one left to tell

most have run away

some of them died

fire that thing up

it's getting cold outside

momma's tears and prayers

kiss the back of daddy's hand

the gate slams shut

again and again

only a few will understand

now I read in reverse

through the saga that I wrote

the fuck ups

and disappointment

the blood stained

suicide note

I got so good at taking

I forgot how to give

I was so busy dying

I never learned how to live

I know the dark

’cause I’ve spent a lot of time there

listening to the murmurs

of the old me

remembering things

when I pretended to care

I don’t need light to see

to cast doubtful shadows

of uncertainty

I know the dark

I know the dark

slide on over

there’s enough room for two

in this room with no view

I’ve seen the things that you do

it doesn’t bother me

I’ve done them too

I know the dark

the promises made

in a constant charade

with motives hidden in lies

deceit

defeat

delete

repeat

all there when you close your eyes

I know the dark

I know the dark

She don’t ask for much

’cause she always gets what she needs

Kind words, a smile, and a gentle touch

she’s gonna crush the negativity

Ignorant fingers point in her direction

don’t believe the hype you read

She’s not here because I need protection

she’s by my side because I love the breed

Before you judge us as something to avoid

and nervously cross the street

Make an effort to get to know us

you’ll soon find out she’s loving and sweet

She’s looking at me now with love in her eyes

already too big to safely carry her

I’ve got her back and she’s got mine

my Mona Lucy

An American Pitbull Terrier

The snowflake landed on her nose. All I wanted to do at that point was laugh and take a picture. Apparently, the sight of a red MAGA hat triggered her and she started screaming how offended she was and “Trump’s not my president!”

Well, she started jumping up and down, getting more hysterical by the second, her cheap makeup starting to smear from an exaggerated crocodile tear. Someone behind her suggested that we build a wall and she whirled around, furiously accusing him of grabbing her by the pussy.

It was at this point that people began recording her antics on their phones. Unfortunately, I had forgotten mine in the truck. I was taking pictures of the bump stock on my AR-15 “assault rifle” when I realized the battery needed to be charged and it was still plugged in.

The salty tears of socialism had begun to puddle at her feet and she slipped and bounced her face off the tiles. Honestly, my first reaction was to help her up but then I realized the “she” was a “he” so I stepped over “it” to place my order of bacon to go.

elusive

like a fighter

who slaps you around

tentative paws

scared of what they might touch

making contact

feels good

tho

there is never enough

Consciousness returns

realizing I'm not alone

Sleep can't take you from me

we are one

Don’t hand me that crap

about old Jack Sprat

and his big fat wife

smeared in vaseline

The dishes get done

that’s all well and good

but what about the lines running in between?

He might be smothered in love

but when push comes to shove

where’s a stairwell when you need it?

Why bother to work

and bring home the bacon

when you know you’re not going to eat it?

So he sits in silence...

while she’s smackin’ her lips

with grease running down her three chins

"Not much longer" he hopes

her heart will explode

and that’s when Jack’s story begins!

dirty fingers sliding into

old

cold

honey

sweet and sticky

and filthy

just the way you like