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Saturday Night

Smoked cigarette butts in
The cup of runny-mud-thick cold minestrone soup
Half gone
My inebriated head melts
Into my numb hairless fingers, hang nails hung over from
A sober week at the office
Half a dream
A purple man steals my silver soup spoon
Right out of my nicotine-stained-green ten thumbs
I got a bitch for a barmaid—she laughs
So I leave the crack-in-the-wall greasy counter-ette
And go outside, smoke
Half a cigarette.

Breezin’ through my liquid hair
The late November-early December wind
Half froze.
My sixteen feet bend into the piss puddles
I left last weekend at this same bar and grill
Half green.
A young girl—ten, maybe thirteen—winks a make-up-caked eye at me
Or is it for the purple man who dropped my spoon
Half full.

Half way home.
I got to take a leak, shit, I ain’t got no head, no eyes
No skin, no time.
I ain’t got no time to relieve my drunken rectum
Half moon.
The cracks in the cement get closer and closer
No damn taxis around this cultured area
Half a town.
Another smoked cigarette falls down my throat and the 
Mucous puts it out.
The purple man is
Half yellow.
A fire hydrant finds its way to kick me in the balls
And my apartment is right over there, no lights on

Half morning
Stained sheets, stained from wet dreams, feel warm.
The purple man leaves when I raise my thick head
Half raised.
I see my cocker spaniel.  Slurpin’ up half a cup of
Cold rainy-mud-thick minestrone soup.
And I left the bathroom light
Half on.

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