Walmart Cream Cheese


The music rattles my dead bones.

Hank Williams and Loudon Wainwright

and Bobby Bare and Geto Boys

and Liam Clancy

and The Rolling Stones and The Dead Boys


as the beers pour down

and I read Bukowski,

trying to write

but failing and failing

because I am indeed dead,


wanting to quote Shakespeare

and the Greeks

but all I can come up with

is Leonard Cohen –


Let’s sing another song, boys,

this one has grown old

and bitter


but now as I am listening to Aerosmith

all I can think about

is how much I want to have Indian food tomorrow

as the hours of tonight fade

and Tom Waits fades into Bobby Bare

as I still read Bukowski,


opening another beer,

already dead to today,

knowing tomorrow

I won’t drive the thirty minutes

for the good Indian buffet:


I’ll probably just have some of that Walmart cream cheese

on processed white bread


because it’s easy.

Maybe I will toast it.


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