bookstore blues

the fucking ridiculous shit
she says sometimes can fly
over me like a black cloud
of Africanized Killer Bees

we were in the bookstore and
as usual
i had picked out another Bukowski
to add to my collection

she on the other hand had
as usual
picked up another baby’s first book of tarot
or horoscopes and male genital mutilation

after eleven minutes (and one returned latte’) she’s ready to go
so we make our way towards
the front register and I decide to add
a magazine to my order, mix things up a bit ( i am one crazy cat)

so while I’m looking past the “Linux Today” and
“Cigar Afficianado” and “Maxim” and “Barely Legal”
she makes the comment
‘why do you need a magazine, you havent finished the book you have?’

i quietly went flaccid and assured her that i had ONE
FUCKING chapter left in the book at home and that
adding a FUCKING magazine wasn’t going to make a
huge FUCKING dent in my social calendar

so i said FUCK it
and as i walked past the one shelf wide poetry
section i returned
“sifting through the madness for the word, the line, the way”

and she disposed of her book of bullshit
on the three dollar dictionary pile
and I walked to the car and got in
and waited for her to get in

‘Stop by Publix’
i told her
and she knew that really meant
‘i’m getting shitfaced tonight and going to the bar later’

tomorrow I’ll wake up around 7:30
drink some coffee, shower, shit
(something about showering makes me shit)
get dressed, and go buy the book..

probably add “come on in” as well