516. MY FULL-TILT BOOGIE

MY FULL-TILT BOOGIE
(Philadelphia, 8/29)
'I may have mis-represented something unlikely and
that shouldn't concern you anyway because shit such
as that doesn't always fly and anyway you said the
guy was drunk and as it was I was more interested in
the girl he was with. I'd known her from Pendelton and
was hoping she wouldn't blab.'
-
Well, wouldn't that have to do?
The waterfront had been turned into
a carnival anyway, and now all these
freshened people were boozing about -
I faced nothing but crap-talk like that I'd
just heard. What I wanted to say was, precisely,
impolite: 'The hands on this clock have turned ugly.'
-
I wasn't sure anyone would get the message, and what
it meant wasn't really positive anyway. I was drowning in
negativity, and this real estate was ranch enough for my bile.
-
'I remember one day, she took off her robe and there
was nothing underneath! And there we were, on the front porch
where she lived. What was I supposed to do? Scatter off and
run home? After that, we hardly talked - and that afternoon was
never brought up again. Hand me another beer, will you.'
-
McKracken gauge-face butterball ice.
Torrid myopic meander portion.
Nascent pneumatic fist-pummel tunic.
Anything like that would be better
than firing a gun...
-
The hands on this clock have turned ugly.
This real estate was ranch enough for my bile.