And sleeveless dirty t-shirts
And a fashionable Rustywhear apron
If I happen to be burning some meat.
I will drink whisky, and brandy old-fashioneds
And tequila, but probably not gin,
And the occasional 116 oz table-tapper
To make up for the sobriety of my sleep.
I will vomit every third day of drinking
For no good reason but alcohol poisoning
And something about pancreatitis
And the poor condition of my liver.
I shall sleep in the flowers of other people’s gardens
Until they poke me with a stick or other sharp object
And ask me to leave promptly and peaceably
The authorities already on their way.
I will search out free tacos and other happy hours
And sing show tunes on the airplane
And play my guitar in public places
Despite the public’s strong preference that I not.
But for now I must wear a nice jacket,
And a relatively clean shirt, and pants,
And set a good example for the children
About how to keep from falling down.
But then again, after they’re sleeping,
Or when I get away for a Rusty,
Shall I not sample the appetizer
Of my geezer days to come.
8 comments:
Hi OneEar,
Is this a prognostication of what you deem you life is going to be like in the “golden years”? It’s a rather dismal depiction. Do you feel you’re headed in that direction now and your existence is an empty, deceptive pretense?
Perhaps you’re suffering from Pre-Holiday angst. Be thankful you aren’t a turkey; a lot of them will never have “geezer days”.
I just reuinted my atman with my brahman--
& all I got was this lousy t-shirt.
L- I am living the golden years, only it is more like a golden shower. I stole this poem from the lady who founded the red hat purple shirt society, and I hope to profit similarly from red socks and dirty t-shirts.
CC-I'm no Hindu scholar, but I think when you unite your brahman with your atman you become batman.
Hi OneEar,
It’s reassuring to know that you didn’t pen this poem nor is it necessarily a statement of how you view life. Enjoy the golden shower while (if?) you can because the Golden Years will be upon you soon enough…
Good luck with the “red socks and dirty t-shirts”. It might go over well with the AARP crowd.
Dear Oneear,
I believe we wrote this poem 20 years ago in a gutter--your vomit dripping off my head--you laying a few yards away in shit and broken glass. I think we rallied.
Well, Alceste! How are they hanging? Still shitting on hotel floors?
Whatever happened 20 years ago, I'm sure we rallied.
Alceste. It has truly been a while. Welcome back.
Speaking of long lost pals, where has Coco gone?
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