the day my agent called with the news
I was hanging sheet rock in a Jersey City duplex, my lungs coated in dust
the sweat soaking through my only clean shirt and Marshall Tucker on the radio
we went out drinking that night – my recently divorced boss who hated his ex-wife and me
asked if I’d ever read Michener, said how much he loved Michener
when we got to the parking lot a few minutes after midnight he dropped his keys and
asked if I thought the bartender was in love with him,
said how he knew the bartender was in love with him
she really has a thing for me. Should I go back in and make my move?
his mind already settled on mistakes not yet made
I walked three blocks in the company of my last seven cents
this ding woosh ding inside my pocket a song for late night drunks and displaced poets
This is a serial work in progress, all of what exists can be read here.