old school

more like unschooled . . . we lucked out

more like unschooled . . . we lucked out

 

 

i’ll drink anything

but i buy cheap canned beer

fix my mower

with a coat hanger

start and stop it with the choke

i wear second-hand clothes

till they’re threadbare

my old lazy-boy scratch-post recliner

turned thirty-six this year

my grandmother bought it

three years before she died

i don’t own

a cell phone

i’d rather piss and moan

about all the timely essential and

important bullshit i’m missing

in the back yard of the digital age

and just for the record

text is not a goddamn verb

fucked is

which is what i am

in this new school playing

on the new millennium field

although i think

i understand

why we don’t live forever

some young fucker

(fuck! now there’s a versatile fucking word)

would finally come unglued

and pound me out of existence

just to shut me up

put both of us out of our mutual miseries

long before i ever flipped

the calendar page to begin

another century

 

 

 

 

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