Post Sorrow Downs

Chuck-a-luck

I met an old man that did not fear change.
The only change he did fear was that which would leave him behind,
leaving a world with no place for another old man.
He use to council youth,
now he moves plants from one pot to another.

Toddy and Morrow

Morrow Henny woke up late for work. He rolled off the couch and crawled to the bathroom. It was about noon. He threw up last nights liquor, rinsed his mouth out and looked in the mirror. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all except for the fact that his hair was matted down on one side and sticking up on the other. He looked a bad ten years older than he should.
He ambled into the living room and sat down on the couch he had passed out on the night before. Henny hadn't noticed his son sitting three feet in front of the t.v. until now.
Toddy, the seven year old boy, was watching the news on the only channel that had reception, though it came through with strips of electronic snow that made its way from the bottom of the screen to the top.
Toddy turned around, still sitting on the floor, and looked at his father. "Are you ok, Daddy? Are you sick?" asked the boy.
"No Toddy, Daddy is not ok. Yes Toddy, Daddy is sick."
"Why are you sick Daddy?"
"Daddy drank too many distilled potatoes." Toddy laughed at the thought of drinking a potato.
"Why did you drink a potato?"
"Do you feel sad when you are sick, Toddy?"
"Yes."
"Does medicine help when you are sick?"
"Yes"
"Well, Daddy was sad, so Daddy took medicine." Morrow found it easier to refer to himself in third person during conversations like this.
"And potatoes are medicine?" Toddy questioned.
"Yes Toddy, distilled potatoes are medicine."
"Do you still feel sick?"
"Very much so."
"...and sad?"
"That is why I am sick." Henny clenched his jaw, it hurt to refer to himself in first person.
"Do you need me to get your medicine?" asked Toddy.
"Thank you, but no." He stood. "Daddy can get it." His knees wobbled as he walked to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard above the refrigerator and removed a bottle of vodka. Cheap vodka. Henny poured a glass, then brought the bottle along with the full glass back to the couch. Drank down the medicine and poured another.
Toddy had turned his attention once again to the t.v. Morrow moved from the couch to the floor next to his son, in front of the t.v., bottle and glass in hand. "Why are you sad Daddy?"
"I... Daddy is sad because Mommy... went to the store." A tear rolled down his cheek.
"Don't be sad, Mommy always goes to the store. She will be back!" Toddy smiled.
Morrow managed a smile through the tears. "The store is a long long way away," he paused "too long."
"Mommy isn't coming back?"
"No Toddy, I don't think Mommy is coming back." He drank.
"Now I am sad too." said Toddy. Morrows body was now convulsing with sobs. "Can I have medicine?"
"No Toddy, don't ever have potato medicine and don't ever get sad."

Tod is now 25 and hasn't had either Morrows distilled medicine or even a potato since the day Mommy went to the store and Daddy missed work. But he does get sad from time to time.

Sans Paycheck

There are well dressed
people running to catch
their busses. With nice
clothes and two-hundred
dollar shoes. Carrying bags or
brief cases. I am wearing
soggy work boots. Clean faces
strained in hopes to make
their bus. Mine, dirty with
holes and stubble.
They make me feel bad for
myself, not about. I have a
big negative, one of these
suites' days work made
sure of it. And got paid a
similar sum, then spent it
in flashes.

Day In

my boss calls me scott
my dads name
he compares my work ethic to that of my dads
he doesnt know my old man
he says he would be proud of me
or he could do this faster or that better
he says i am scrawny
so is my dad
but i have holes in my face and stained skin
i drink too much and eat too little
but we are both dying
at the same rate
for different reasons
my boss says i am like my old man
maybe i am
but my dad doesnt cuss or spit

i feel old

Winos Choicest Wine

Bad wine is always best served when
bitter. Not the wine.
Rather the state of the head.
Best served in secret. When it is not
yours. When surrounded by walls
that are not yours.
When you can not afford any better. Or
any at all. When you
can not afford the hangover.
Bad wine is not bad when everything
else is. Everything else is not bad
when bad wine is good.
Wine that comes with a screw off
cap instead of a cork.
That comes and is gone in an instant.
Bad wine replaces whining. Winos,
true winos drink bad wine. Drink
alone. Drink wine that is not theirs. Because
they can not afford any better.
Or any wine at all for that matter.

Dog Work

cat scratch face
thousands of dollars in burial fees
eight dollar cigarettes
borrowed half bottle of wine
stomache full of sickness
state full of greed
head full of nonsense
muscles full up of monotonous days work
sister bitch
wind howling
vocal chords howling
sickening day in
day out
fucked up bus schedule
hours to get to work
hours on end once there
hours back
few hours of sleep
few dollars
thousands of dollars in burial fees
head full of nonsense
ignore the helpless
help the helpful
lothe the loveless
love the obvious lovers that secretly abandone others
thousands of dollars in burial fees
ignore the helpless
full up of monotonous days work

i am not doing this again tomorrow
perhaps the next days dog work will shine
like a rusty penny again

Bus Nazi and No Sleep

I slept for thirty minutes last night. I am tired and my acid reflux is going crazy. My girlfriends parents think of me as a deterrent and don't recognize a single positive action. Maybe it is because they don't want me to be good enough for their daughter. They don't want to accept the fact that I know how to help her in ways they can't. It use to be a lot worse, maybe they are starting to warm up to the idea that we are good for each other, or that I am not stepping back no matter what they do.

I left the house, Martha's house, this morning and when I got to the Ave I realized that I have no bus fair. Shit, right?

I asked a few people if they had a buck. An old lady look really apologetic that she did not have one to spare. I asked a teen and he looked scared and guilty because he had one but didn't want to give it to me. The lady caught her bus and the teen walked away.

The bus came and I got on and asked the driver if I could get a free ride. He said, you didn't bring bus fare? somewhat surprised. I replied, no, is it ok if I ride free. He, it's your business if you want to break the law. I, is it ok with you though? He, it's your business if you want to break the law and board without paying.

I assumed that meant he wouldn't do anything about it. Right, as if I am that lucky.

Everything looks fine, no trouble. The driver makes all the routine stops. Then, I notice him briefly use the radio. Hmmmmm.... I had heard stories about people getting outrageous tickets for not paying bus fare, but that would never happen to me, right?

So I ignored it. Then I started to get antsy. I would watch as we pulled up to each stop to see if there was a cop waiting to snag me.

None. Not until my stop.

I look out the window and there standing at the stop is metro security. He is eyeing everyone on the bus. Looking for, well I am guessing he was looking for me. I walk out past him fast, making sure not to be conspicuous. I lit a cig, got on the escalator that led up to the street and watched as he spun in circles on the bus, looking, for me. I started to walk fast up the escalator. He began walking towards the front of the bus, as if to talk to the driver.

I was out of sight, the bus had left but now I see another one of those fuckers. Talk about  fucking power trip. The guy lets me on the bus so he can report me for not paying. What the hell does he get out of that? A bonus? Or maybe he is just sick and that stuff gives him a hard-on.