Litkicks Message Board Archive

sitting in yer jail cell like a harmless hungover buddha

Posted to Action Poetry




last time i saw you, broken, busted
hands behind yer back in silver cuffs
shirtless, stupid, hat sideways reeking
of bad beer & foul cigarettes
bent over the hood of a cop car
the night humid heated sticky
as you crashed through the bar door
yer girlfriend pounded on my door
two a.m. in a tank top & shorts
crying like a burnt baby, wasted
make-up smeared like black mayonaise
across a cracked & puffy face
hugging me a little too tight
begging fer help, man yer job
is toast, yer life a mess
sitting in yer jail cell like
a harmless hungover buddha
while the clank of keys in cell doors
sound like baby birds as they fall from the nest
shrieking, furiously flapping