Don’t know where I’m goin’ here.
Reading Men’s Journal,
the New Adventure Gear!!! issue.
Was fantasizing about all the stuff
I wanted and got to thinking
Dude, you don’t have room
for all the shit you got now.
As Mom used to say.
..***.
Mom. Damn. Mom.
Decided she must be dead;
Thought this as I shredded her receipts from 1999.
Think we can safely get rid of those now.
Haven’t heard from the old broad in fifteen months.
And we used to talk every day.
She was something special.
Vanna turned over one letter
and Mom could solve the puzzle.
***
Life is good, no complaints.
Sure, complaints. But I am getting hard
of hearing. Can’t hear myself.
Worse comes to worse,
I still drink good beer
chomping down spicy lasagna
always better a day or two later.
While watching a big ass TV
and reading a book review
in New Yorker magazine.
I subscribe.
..***.
Really, if you have to live
where I live,
that is not a secret you want getting out.
Did I mention
I inherited a shredder?