Co-Worker

I swear to fucking Jesus Christ in heaven,
if your voice was not a carbon copy
of a character from the Peanuts Christmas special

I would punch you dead in the face
and split your crooked front teeth
with my fist
like an eager shopper
running through
the hanging plastic slats
behind the doors of a meat market.

I would tell you of the resemblance, but I know you'd be disappointed
in a reference to a thing you would consider somehow cerebral,
and mostly I don't tell you because I would be disappointed
in your whiff on a comparison so blindingly uncanny
and the hurling of further quantities of cement
on your already fortified stupidity.

Crusher

"It's never the case
that a blowjob can make
up for being
a genuine person"
is what I should have said
twenty one minutes ago
and I am so sorry
I tickled your 5 o'clock shadow
despite your generous
and largely unzipped cleavage
afterward.

I won't be calling you.

Cheers?

Morning Mirror After Alcohol Binge

I do not know
why my fingers smell like onions today.


I have not
cooked or cut anything in the kitchen today.


In fact, I am
reviewing the evenings events today.


Nothing stands
outside of the ordinary.


But I do wonder
if all of the skin I am peeling into the bathroom sink today


Means I am
genetically predisposed to cancers.


Hopefully
the internet will explain my onion digits and
I'll chew my fingernails out of boredom instead of worry today.

Questions

I'm looking down at my sleeves
and for the life of me
I cannot figure out
where the other two inches
of gray hoodie went
that used to be between my wrists
and the floating elastic bands
or why there would ever be
blood in a urinal
at an airport
and why
the cat won't give me
the time of day
and why Sundays are nowhere near
as gay
as Saturdays.

The Children 2

And I'm listening to the firelight pop of
ice cubes and figuring
I should probably not
urinate in my loafers as
an amazing prank on the future me who
I know for a fact
is way too uptight
to see the humor in anything

and the snaps and cracks of these
gutsy and robust and square things
that are never there
when you really, really, need them

are stamping time cards
and I am becoming acutely aware of
moments passed without
dozens of small
and awful
lovely
distractions.