I wish I were listening to Pirates or Gamblers or Addled Freaks
Dragging concrete emotions like hit-man shoes
And making the side-walks creak and give up and drip.
Something more…
“New York.”
But instead it’s you,
Little freckled farces
One by one in the after-night highway of this,
My temple-town.
I have found many things in my life.
A life tripping the street waves and raging the mechanics of fierce
Sampling styles and landing feet first in honest remorse
And this compunction is for you:
Upper-East-Siders,
Sliding between ergonomic desk chairs and barstools
And being a drunken douche to the pizza guy.
It is not your fault.
But not the way it wasn’t Matt Damon’s Fault in “Good Will Hunting.”
It’s probably the Top 20 Radio,
Or the small important bits you’re sporting,
Or maybe the realization that life is NOT a fraternity party.
And if you were in a brotherhood then
It was a brotherhood of flaccidity
Of menial minds scampering about blushing
At thoughts you should have left in middle school.
Carnally wondering if Granny will remember your circumcision.
Or if Little Betty remembers peeing on your head.
I feel for you.
Scorn.
©DANIEL MORTON 2011
