Old Men Go Crazy

When I got back from the city on Monday morning
I went to bed and told the box turtle
in the bathroom to hold my calls until Tuesday.

I went to bed
and hoped for the best.

An hour later,
and I’m riding with a friend who spit lit cigarettes
at red lights and swore he’d kill the judge at his court hearing.
Unless the assault charges from his son’s fifth birthday party
were dropped with extreme prejudice.

You can only imagine
how things turned out.

Two hours after the helicopters
left the scene of the crime,
I was trying to believe that the June bride
sitting across from me at The Waffle House
really did want to leave her husband for me.

Let’s remember she looks at life as being
a lot like some of the darker Zevon tunes.

Let’s also keep in mind that she came back
from the dead last Christmas, and that she clearly suffers
from Multiple Personality Disorder.

I don’t want to be presumptuous about her sincerity,
but I think it was smart to just sit there,
look sad, drink four liters of coffee
and squeeze the waitress’ hand when she brought the cheque.

The bride and I parted on good terms,
and by the end of the afternoon
I was auditioning for a play at gunpoint.

I did that while sending furious text messages
to a homeless guy who claimed to know
my whole future and just wouldn’t leave me
alone about it.

Palm readers don’t even bother
with human interaction anymore. It’s insane.

I didn’t get the part,
and I had to spend most of my evening
watching amateur doctors pass out
at the sight of the four bullet wounds in my left leg,

There was a riot just beyond the cold operating room,
but I couldn’t tell you anything about it. I just walked through
the wreckage, gave the guy at the grand piano a five-spot
and tried to make my way back home.

I almost made it.
I almost hit the pillow on my bed
from as far away as the long steps up to the front door.

That’s when I got a phone call
that had me spending the rest of the week
wandering the Mexican bars in Chinatown.
Keeping the crowd around me entertained
and pretending I had never fallen in love the hard way.

I’m a fool, you know.
I was still optimistic about getting some sleep
when I finally made it home the following Sunday morning.

My box turtle knew the score though.
She wouldn’t even look up from her dried-out lettuce.

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  1. This is so good, it almost made me cry. I wished I wrote as good as you. What an inspiration.

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