O Lord, break their teeth in their mouths
I was falling asleep by Oklahoma City, but pushed on past Tulsa to the border. I slept at the visitor’s center in parking lot, safe from all those damn Okies.
What a sad life I live these days, hung over at 3 a.m.
Now, the python scares me, but as a child I nailed a rattlesnake to the floor (straight into the wood) and chopped its rattle in half. Once I cut off its head, the body’s jerking put me to flight.
I left the land of my ancestors, I department from my parents’ shack, and walked to a bar adjacent, serving beer and showing sports. I ordered water and a Dr Pepper, but still awoke with a great thirst.
“Can I help you?”
“One of those days, huh?”
It’s 2 p.m.
“Aren’t they all?”
“When you’re sober and the person talking to you is drunk, the conversation doesn’t make sense, does it? But when you’re drunk, and the other person is drunk, you understand each other perfectly,” says the Chicago police officer in the bar. He turns to me. “Does that make sense?”
“No. But maybe I’m not drunk enough.”
I miss a fellow to bar-hop with.
——(It’s raining outside the bar.)
Cloves clover zinfindel.
——Anyway, I imagine us together, pregnancies, family career, gray hairs, and I’m
—— happy, but I know I haven’t the consistency for it.
(It’s raining a lot outside.)
——Oh! My investment.
——O Lord, break their teeth in their mouths.
But that’s because the rattlesnake is immortal, and if we let it find its head,
we’ll never know it’s coming. (A dream.)
How long, O Lord, how long?
——The fellow at the bar said water was bad treatment for a hangover, but I’ve
——disregarded his advice on this. “Rumplemince.” Name does give me the willies.