I am a
champion of
delinquent payments,
A
jack of all trades not worth knowing.
I hang
overdraft notices on the
wall like degrees.
I have a
Masters in Excess Spending.
I am the third grade
poet laureate,
Forever failing
Math exams,
Held back by the
dizzying confines of
Logic.
I am an
emotional disaster
In dire need of
government relief funds,
Of
National Guardsmen with sandbags
And makeshift
retaining walls
To keep me from affecting any more
Poor sons-of-bitches.
I am
Hank Williams’ ghost
Playing
tic-tac-toe
With
Phil Ochs
On
Ronald Reagan’s
tombstone.
I am learning
Russian in order
To better understand
What my
neighbors are surely
Saying about me.
I would commit the most
appalling acts
If they meant working
nine-to-five
With
benefits.
I am an
anal retentive anarchist
Selling
hope to
infants
And
sedatives to their mothers.
I am the month of
August,
Sticky with sweat.
I am a
suicide gone bad
And a
homicide waiting to happen.