Fast food coffee, fast food coffee,
fast food coffee and mutual overhearing
of the conversation near us,
listening to the bosses of yesteryears
talking high on the dealer scene and
tidbits of respect and retributions
and self enforced solutions to prior engagements
gone sour. We can chuckle some and
knuckle under some while we listen to
tales of bats and broken windows and
fingers pointed and cut off old school,
self policing gray haired nonsense years removed
from the years of use and using come bright
into the territory of sale like job fair booths and
morning coffee is just another fix for
another kind of problem like we solve
for another kind, and absolved like
antique rug peddlers to cluster fucked collectors
who don't know up from counseling
or a band-aid from an arm broke sling.
It's all laughs and laughs and I feel
older and wiser in that company
every time. Throwing down a dollar
for another 12 ounce
coffee. I am still surprised when you explain
to me that you quit drinking and
the answer to my why is still
a litany of friend's suicides.
My writing it off my bucket list
lends no joy
because you know I'm lying
like I cannot understand, my own mechanics
Benedicting subconscious plans.
Cheers, let's move these bags.
The day is young
like we used to be
and the night is coming
to cut us both
a little more free. I'm buying
tomorrow.
