38/1

Weld spatter burns pepper arms that prop up a head that aches like poverty. The flies buzz by like maverick pilots and cause one of the arms to lash out in an annoyed ballet. Coffee and water stand on a stained Formica battlefield cooling and warming in unison.
Both becoming unpleasant.
The murmur of patrons drone along with the piped in pop creating an audible equivalent to the cranium ache. Eyes peer at the empty other side of the booth, the ceiling painted in nicotine, soft water spots on sparkling new silverware and an ashtray as empty as an insincere eulogy. The server strives for an Academy Award with his customers’ two booths up.
Eyes close
Eyes open
Breathing is measured as nothing happens at this spot, on this planet as it spins, hurtling through space.

A little rhyme and meter

Here I toil with furrowed brow
Through memory’s mud I dredge and plow
Through the fog to grasp the chance
To bring forth tales of happenstance

Letters from the QWERTY jumble
Attempt to place with little fumble
Finding phonics single fingered
Webster’s ulcer constant linger

Be it numerous tales of blue collar folly
Or Michelin Women as big as a trolley
Escapades of a caveman in civilization
Oblivious reaction to the female persuasion

A boisterous blues/rock band playing the loop
In dive bars, and greenhouses, and old chicken coups
An assortment of occasions of hyper caffeination
A zombie apocalypse from rampant imagination

So join me on this joyride down Recollection Avenue
With an in-transit meal of memory you can chew
I promise a cavalcade of stories and fun
In the forth coming year of two zero one one