A Bad
Day
I walked out
of the drug store
despondent
I couldn’t get a refill
on my
anti-depressants.
I walked around the corner
down an alley
came across a man lying in vomit
or blood
or something,
ignored him
continued on
came across another man
who was sitting up
dry
awake
and aware,
asked him for a smoke,
was ignored,
thought of kicking him,
didn’t,
walked a few steps further,
found my own wall
to lean against,
slid down, sat
found a butt
tried to light it
couldn’t—too wet
threw it down
looked over at the bum sitting
down the way,
his place and lot in life,
just fine.
Fucking asshole.
Youth
She was half my age
looking to be fucked
and bucked
and drilled
until she drooled.
She needed a real man.
I wished I knew one.
What I Remember
The smell
of my Mother's lap as I fell asleep on the couch.
Getting my Father a beer as he sat watching football.
The highest branch in the tree where no one could see me.
The diving board at the local pool, where everyone could.
Mrs. Stinchfield, who laughed at my story about the
boy, the spaceman, and the three-headed alien.
Mrs. Stinchfield, again. Who didn't laugh when I
couldn't make it to the boys room in time.
Enough milk for a full bowl of Sugar Pops.
Leaving enough for my father . . . just in case.
Johnny Quest, Saturday mornings.
Dodger baseball, Sunday afternoons.
Finding my lost turtle who lived in the back yard.
Painting his shell orange so it would be easier next time.
Giving Ronnie Perotti a black eye.
Showing everyone mine the next day.
The slow way home from school.
The fastest way out of the house.
My brother telling my Dad he did it,
when it was me.
Crying with him afterwards because
that's all I could do.
My dog Bandit who knew everything
that went on.
And, my best friend
Chris Tomlin,
who didn't.
Copyright © 2003 Steven Hoadley