My New Neighbors

Nothing is less arousing
than that goddamn white trash olympics
on our collective front lawn.

I can't get a boner
to save my mother's life
with those bitch squeals
calling at rhythmic intervals
as another Hitler youth
straddles the bitch

and calls out
"Ride, Princess! Ride!"

A bicycle lies upside down
on top of the tool shed.

Jason, Jacqueline, and Jamie

Jason and Jacqueline were not in love at the time. In fact, Jacqueline was spending a few nights a week at a hotel downtown. She said it was easier to sleep in a clean bed. The bed at her home (with Jason) was often spoiled by crumbs.

Jason always had an appetite that resulted in bits of dry, salty snacks falling into the sheets. So they were not in love at the time. Of course, that was no excuse.

The excuse was actually Jamie. But she wasn't the excuse for lonely hotels; she was the excuse for reclaiming the house. Jamie was a crumb, and Jacqueline hated crumbs.

One morning, after a clean night's sleep downtown, Jacqueline was appalled to return home and find Jamie, the crumb, in bed with Jason.

"You little crumb," she shouted.

Although she didn't really love Jason, Jacqueline made a show of being hurt in front of him

and in front of the court some weeks later.

Jason felt ashamed in spite of his unlove for Jacqueline. He didn't love Jamie either. He was just in love with the game. He had an appetite for the Jamies of the world like he had an appetite for dry, salty snacks.

So Jason ate a snack, Jamie was swept out like a crumb, and Jacqueline had a clean bed without hotel expense.

Now Jason stayed in a hotel (with his snacks).

And nobody was ever in love at that time or any other.

I fear poverty;
I fear it will make a thief
of me.

My eyelids,
though heavy with fatigue
born out of stress,
are wide open,
watching for opportunity
to take what I need
or might need.

I cannot despise
the beggar
shoplifter
thief
in me
or anyone else
these days.