I walk the streets wondering
'why me? ' I'm pathetic as I
head into the bar to gulp
my fill of Coors(Lite) . 'They'
all look at me and I flip
them the bird. They chuck
me out on the sidewalk with
a wet head. Coors(Lite)
drips
into my eyes and tears
flow out of them. I stroll
back in for some peanuts
with my black eye. And
Johnny says 'Why're you
back in here, Dork? '
My red checkered shirt
is ripped,
and I say 'I'm hungry
for some a them there
peanuts, and I need a
Coors (Lite) .' They all
chuckle,
and throw cigarette
butts at me, but I get
to the peanuts with a
growlin' in my gut.
I stumble to the jukebox
and pull up Rainy Day
Women 12@35, and I
scream as loud as I
can, 'ONE OF YOU
FU*KERS GIMME
A QUARTER! '
Brought to mind Keroauc's - October in the railway earth - I like.
this is excellent getting the measure of your style. Been there puked there may be without the juke box
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Being down and out is a serious form of poverty. Great poem.