A Native American stumblebum told me a dirty
joke in the bus tunnel.
I laughed even though I knew the punchline.
'Beef stroganoff.'
He offered me vodka and I declined.
I had whiskey at home.
I eyed my reflection in the window of the 106,
wondering if my labret piercing was contaminated.
Thrush from too much rinsing.
Infection from too much drinking.
I stepped off the bus.
Fired up a cigarette.
Walked home.
I didn't think about her at all.
I poured myself a whiskey.
There.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem