One foot planted in the white vinyl cushion
of squeaky kitchen stool. The other pushing
the contact papered collapsible excuse
for a table against the wall. Spilling juice
and plated toast flip free and napkins flutter
to the floor like panties and you mutter
about having to be at work in ten minutes
and I would listen, but I've still got a fifth to finish,
vacation to kill, and air guitar to shred
and don't worry about your carpet while you're gone,
I'll piss in your closet instead.
