But he doesn’t get it he already is someone he just doesn’t want to be the kinda one that sits on the couch with chips dribbled all down his gut desperately big-belly laughing at that episode
he’s already watched 6 damn times. But no he’s gonna be somebody! He’s gonna go somewhere!
Thing is, you can’t just hop in the ‘02 Camry, merge onto Kingshighway and
you’re there. Somewhere takes late nights working the bar serving drunks till
they fall over
Gimme my keys boy I gotta get home
Droopy-cheeked and red-nosed you don’t give a shit even though they’re probably running from something too. You hide their keys, they waver the 3 blocks home happy-drunk cause Coors Light and Netflix aren’t too different when it comes to forgetting.
Small Town Graveyard II
like little pigs on an industrial farm we sit at the bar waiting for slaughter
deep pores and yellow teeth, sad but still beautiful like Fuck you let me live! type beautiful
CCR, Coors Banquets at 4 p.m., Tuesday. 9:30 rolls around,
a little buzzed, the night a little grey, twist the key in the ignition
think for a second about not driving but hey, the roads are quiet, deserted
don’t see a single headlight on the way home
grind the transmission switching from first to second
laugh because only the stars can hear you,
mortality’s funny in an every second matters kind of way
Ryan Keeney is a writer and MA candidate at The New School for Social Research. He has forthcoming work in Third Wednesday. He lives in St. Louis, Missouri.