A(nother) (Sh*tty) Sonnet
Cute girl who works the local liquor store
counter, I wonder sometimes how I strike
you.—am I happy in your eyes?—do you like
to speak, when daily, as a steady chore,
I stroll onto your heavenly sales floor?
(You said it was another day (yes fake)
‘in paradise’, in answer to my joke.—
—and then I left with my usual four.).
Reality looks (more (something)) like this:
biting my nails until they burn like hell,
eating my nervous thoughts,—binging and purging
on romance,—and on a deathly scourging
of emotional detachment. O’, belle,
there’s nothing more I miss than someone‘s kiss.
If displaced, found nowhere, but in water
of the retention pond,
no longer in V-formation, nowhere
in the bluest sky,
however, beneath and at the behest
of angels, ruled by God,
it is my greenest eyes that you swim in,
as I exit the highway.
This exit didn’t exist when Mom was alive,
nor the quick stop, QT,
that I pass by, so close to my dad’s house.
On a cul-de-sac, road’s end,
I pull into his short, straight driveway, push
open the door, unlocked.
I quick-tell my story of the seized geese,
it was only mine to tell,
of how I saw their takeoff as if they were planes
leaving the lonely spot,
their brief stay with only my mind and heart
to excite; somewhere lifting
into the gray, blue day prodded on by
a host of angels.
Dad doesn’t recall the retention pond; is
it nowhere
but in my imagination; oh no,
it is so real, beyond nowhere, somewhere
where his eyes can’t see,
for Dad drives straight to the liquor store,
prepared to see olives
in his martini; but he’s happy to see geese fly
out my retentive mouth.
Happy Hour is one drink short
of a buzz.
She’s found her remote
it was in the back of her mind
where remoteness begins.
It’s been a tough year so far
what with all this
apocalyptic going on,
but that’s not why
she changed the channel in her head,
it’s what I unthinkingly said
while swallowing down
one last slurp of margarita.
It was the words
that slid out of my mouth
that triggered her to turn me off,
and watch a revenge movie instead.
I'm determined that tomorrow
I will mix the drinks
and we won’t run dry,
just as long
as I can find a liquor store
amongst the rubble of our lives.
Cantina Tina never met one meaner
Though she sure looked pretty as the night grew long;
And so did I, in the mirror of the john.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
A Skid Row guy with an eye for Pasadena;
Spend my nights between seventh and third
With old Jack D ’til the world is blurred.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Out of County jail for a misdemeanor,
“No sir, Judge won’t be doing that no more;”
Hot foot it down to the nearest liquor store.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Once had a girl, oh boy, you should have seen her
“It’s poker, pool, or me if you want me staying here:”
So yes, I went ahead and chose the boys and beer.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
So here I am, eyeing Cantina Tina
She’s sure looking pretty as the night grows long;
And so do I, in the mirror of the john.
Bottom of the bottle is where the grass is greener.
Let’s not even swap names,
just live in the now, with no strings, no stakes.
Hold me close, but loose enough to let go.
Come sunrise, I will be just a whisper in your memory.
Let’s hit the liquor store, tonight.
Two shots, to wash down the memories,
and keep tomorrow a stranger.
No need for histories or questions,
just a walk under reckless skies.
Let’s be trouble we won’t confess,
a secret we will forget come morning.
We are here for one night, only
two strangers hiding in the city lights,
craving the comfort of being unknown.
By dawn, we will be strangers again,
and I will walk away with just your warmth on my skin.
No promises, no pieces left behind,
just one night, only.
The unbearable grief he never wished for or imagined
made him a secluded man shunning all Humanity;
he clung to a feeble breath so void of each certainty,
telling himself he had to fight harder and be admired.
I saw him chasing clouds out of his bleary sky
with an urge stronger than desire, " Let no hope
be held from me, I deserve joy unlikely anybody."
What made change his mind staring at that rope?
How many bottles of rum he had stored in his hut?
Did the small paycheck he earned cover the hefty price?
At no vail, he tried to rob the local liquor store twice;
nobody bailed him out, prison brought despair not guilt.
He sits in the coldest room staring at the darkest sky,
who dares to shake his hand and lift him up to mollify
his confined spirit not emboldened by actual reality?
Help him overcome his dire loneliness and sobriety!
Les Moore went down to the liquor store
But then wound up passed out on the floor
He woke Gin anointed
And guite disappointed
So I guess you might say less is more
A robber
" robbed some cash,"
Robbed by an other robber,
"Crying for losing robbed money,"
A beautiful girl screamed
" Two robbers robbing each other."
A robber robbed a robber
"laughed loudly to have money in possession"
The robbed owner ,
"got confused to lose his money."
The police officers arrested
"The robber robbed the robber.
Cried so much in the cell and died"
The robbed robber
" laughed to see both losing,"
The owner feared to report illegal millions robbed.
" Continue crying into the ocean"
Some government officials laughed
" Kept the millions into their bellies "
Liquor store owners,
Tavern and bar owners,
Hotel and restaurent owners,
Prostitutes,
" happy , waiting for their shares "
People
" On the streets,
Singing : where is the stolen millions."
The government officials started enjoying money over the Ocean while the owner of the stolen millions continue crying into the Ocean.
" The reality of some government officials in the World, illegal enrichment. "
Written February 22/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
2022 Rouge River
The Good
Population 2,418 people with 5 Police Officers, Murders 0 in 2022 it has one of each, Doctors office, Grocery store, Pharmacy, hardware store and of course 1 liquor store. Very few homeless people but, they do exist each year they have a Christmas tree lighting and if lucky it snows.
Hunting and fishing are only a short drive away surrounded by large trees; the river runs through the outskirts of town. Once a year they have what is called The Rooster Crow where shops of homemade gifts are set up people travel hundreds of miles to share in the fun.
The Bad
There is a 4 way stop that nobody seems to know who goes first, in the morning and afternoon it seems that the school buses stop every 10 feet. On Sunday the liquor store doesn’t open until noon, when it snows it’s cold and you have to shovel it from your walkway.
Driving home from the liquor store,
completely void of worry,
I reached behind for my bag of weed
and I felt something large and furry.
I couldn't remember taking the cat,
though my memory often fails me.
I was sure a monster was in the back
and at any moment was planning to kill me.
I drove my truck into a field
and jumped quickly out of my cab
I thought this animal was for real
and any moment would surely attack
I laid there hid in the bushes
for it must have been an hour
I wanted to run but couldn't.
I was afraid of being devoured.
I mustered up the strength I'd lacked
to approach my truck of horror.
I was holding my prized case double X
and was crouched down like a soldier.
I screamed to scare whatever I'd find
as I jumped threw the open door
I knew that I may not survive
and my life might surely be over.
Holding my weapon overhead
I attacked my enemy quick
and stabbed my villian to his death
and scattered him all over my seats.
I'll never drink again. I swear.
and no more weed for me.
All because of that Teddy Bear
my wife hid behind the seat.
A Hundred-year-old rosewood door
Was found today in an old liquor store.
Buried Beneath the basement floor
so, the story goes
For a century she laid dead
shot up with bullet holes and blood stains
According to an old newspaper clipping,
It was hung before the civil war and opened as a liquor store against the law without a judge or jury
It opened its door that Sunday afternoon
Creating such an uproar a hundred women or more stormed the liquor store and tore down that devil's door singing never more will you open your door.
It was kind of late,
the town had gone to sleep
while some had woke up real early.
Nothing bustled, nothing moved quickly,
the moon had faded into a dark graveyard.
Micky's was open,
blue and yellow neon
fizzed static in the dewy dark.
She was not young
but she looked good in cowboy boots.
He had not shaved
but he looked almost sober
in his stained denim shirt.
They both held a bottle of JD
at the cash-out counter.
However, cupid was out of luck
for they wanted a drink
more than each other.
Still and all,
they would meet again
under a new sleepwalking star,
both holding handcuffed hands,
drunk at the back
of a cops patrol car.
i never dreamed i would miss
my first haven.
the dusty little room
filled with a misty smell.
windows covered with
dusty soot, outdoors a
little hell.
the abandon flats with shadowy
visitors at night. the empty liquor bottles
left covering the street.
it was a haven of being
on my own, being alone.
the ragged kids playing ball
with winos refuge from nights ago,
the shiny cadillacs parked
in front of the ragged flats.
the corner liquor store
always a busy place.
stray dogs wander
like the children,
just as stray, just as stray.
the daily belles sitting
on porches waiting for
sunset to hit.
pretty themselves up
to report to their
nightly post.
the liquor store closes
long before night.
whites might not
see daylight if the
store stays open late.
the children retreat,
the dogs stray on,
cadillacs cruise,
and the belles walk on.
and i, i got married,
we moved, i miss
delaware and poe,
just another corner of detroit.
The street is full of cell-phone zombies;
I’m grateful that my parents didn’t murder me,
and for other small blessing;
content to be this moving figure
In a badly sketched landscape.
Liquor store servers
always make a point of saying ‘have a nice day,’
they are professionals,
they know you are not buying all that booze
for a backyard party with your many friends.
The bookstore is lit-up like a Christmas tree.
It does not sell the kind of books I want to read,
my life story is out of print anyway.
The stores end about here,
the road wanders off into a more aggressively
painted cityscape
where well-chewed over words
are buried in gawping mouths.
I wish I liked this grey, spit-stained strip mall,
It’s not a mean place, just trodden down by
the weight and blare of too much festive trampling.
My inner Grinch is showing up, my jolly smile
Is stitched to a masked and hooded mind.
Going home I write these words inside my head
as if they had just now been spoken.
I peer out of my
bedroom window
at the sights below
An alley plagued with
potholes
strewn with refuse
A liquor store
A dumpster overflowing
with the detritus
of the day’s business
A starving stray cat
I’ve fed before
Jalopy cars
A half empty discarded
bottle of beer
or possibly piss
Either is equally likely
here
A couple fighting
as they stagger back
from the bars
for there’s nothing
better to do
but drink and argue
A hopeless hamlet
is my home
so different from
your own
though the same
stars shine
above me
that you see
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