THE ANGRY WORLD: South Shore Trash

I’m sane when drunk

Hangovers make me crazy

Hypersensitive

to the shit I don’t have

No lovely lady sharing my bed

Beneath my moldy bathtub

the loud scratching has returned

My landlady

silent as a corpse about it

Bartenders and barflies

have told me disturbing stories

Cabin fever shakes me down

A dumb guy picks up his smartphone

deletes the texts

unread

I strike a deal with a red head

thirty minutes of her time

and anything that happens in between

She has a motel room

in the bad part of some town

South Shore

obviously

I drive east

grey clouds blacken with scorn

Local news on the satellite radio

Animals are turning up dead

murdered in gory ways

Popular vagrants have gone missing

A destitute child

disappeared

Fuck You, Long Island

As I pull into the motel lot

A squad car rolls slowly by

like a bag lady pushing deposit cans

There is someone behind a dumpster

as I knock on the dented door

Room 145

A busted blond woman answers

I step into the arena

cigarette smoke and sweaty ass

bombard my sense of smell

On her right arm

a tattoo

Heavy Metal Horns

Her lips part

broken, stained teeth greet me

She pulls a gun and tosses me on the bed

Bolting the door

Informs me I’m under arrest

Turns on the television from 1995

Stay put

I have business in the bathroom

A reality show trudges through a blizzard

of weak antennae reception

Muffled voices from the shitter

short

violent shriek

sounds of a large fish

flopping around in a steel cooler

I want to escape

my traitorous spinal column

strangles my will to live

The blond steps out

wearing a black hood and cloak

eyes burning red

capillaries blasted

curved knife dripping blood

you are lucky

she tells me

you wouldn’t want to be alive

in a world where we rule

 

 

 

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