[i Chose The Wrong Week] Poem by Aaron Eliad

I chose the wrong week
to cut my beats from cut hair.
It was cold,
but not windy enough for cocky tops.

Outside where we rolled strikes
around our mouths
that tasted like swine
and burnt painkiller safety cone slaves;
carrying chair legs in backpacks,
ice water and graham crackers
with crunchy peanut butter
rubbed on top second step scars.

Flopping on granite drape
raindrops and fat heads;
old english written on their shoulders.
Wanting to vandalize all the bright people
with white eyes like fox quills.

The entertainer jumps from the cab
saying, keep the change
though it wasn't much, now we can see
the garbage that life offers.
Thinking out loud, the entertainer
jumps into his hole, the earth
is a tough place to call home.