Writing between the lines is tough
When equilibrium is taken away in a rye way.
At the risk of being overly enamored with myself,
I am proclaiming this to be an all-out rip off of Bukowski.
Not because of some pent up emotion,
But because in my current state,
I make about as much sense as him.
It’s a Saturday,
Nice, gray skies with cool temperatures,
My overly analytical sensibilities
Have been working overdrive today
As I counseled my son through breakfast,
His understanding of the abstract
And beliefs in them that they are concrete is
Driving me crazy because he forgets it’s practicality
That pays the bills.
After putting together a fine batch of patio furniture,
I’m finally enjoying my deck,
With the aforementioned rye, plus a little agave,
And a baked potato that was slow cooked to a perfect consistency.
In between, I explained the facts of my son’s life to his mother,
Probably received by her blind eyes as the messages were only texts,
Then with the skilled oration of
A one-time loser never made it with the ladies man,
I tried to explain the facts of my son’s life to his stepmother.
More rye, please…
It’s not even 4:00 on this Saturday,
There is bound to be more
As this evening’s social introductions get made
Between us and them,
Adversaries only in a theoretical sense…
Present and ex introducing ex to present,
Yeah, it’s healthy to make friends and there’s
Me taking it all in,
Recognizing this invasion of Saturday night fodder is good for the blogger
And hoping there might be some crazy shit going down
Without me being directly involved.
Local haunts might be called upon, specifically, the
One sharing the same name as my Italian uncle,
Who once sliced me with a weed whacker and made Jaws jokes
Before we headed to the beach,
I miss that guy,
His drunken reverie, his overdeveloped sense of masculinity,
Although, it would have been better had he toned it all down.
More agave, please…
You see, this is how it is,
Everywhere is a cluster Fox,
Unless, of course, it’s good for something,
And who am I to say,
Anything is not worthwhile?
Seriously, the sort of drunken ramblings of a WordPress wizard
Are not nearly as important as whatever the sober set have going on.(Ha!)
Old Charles B put his life out there for all of us,
One long drunken rant of insanity and wretchedness.
Maybe I could have gone that way,
Exposing the hypocrisy of all I encountered today,
But that would serve no purpose,
Making me less than a Cox and truly a dick.
All I can really say, is that this is a fine day,
The new furniture, absolutely worth the cost,
My beverage distorted perception being appropriate for my deck.
I’ll add, the baked potato I just ate, well worth the wait,
Fluffy, buttery, and full of the flavor Idaho can bring.
I’m glad the heavy conversations are over
And now for the introductions…
More rye and agave, please. Is Tito around?