Can of Beer

The following is a poem that I am sure I will have to face karmic retribution for.  My daughter has been rattling on about Kafka’s Metamorphosis and that in combination with a post a few days ago…about a person whom I know that is a raging alcoholic, and frankly is on his death bed, and a late night phone call in which he bitched me out for being snarky (I was but I don’t know how many times I can say “move along now” kindly before the snarkiness kicks in.)   Anyway this is about addiction, about abusing the system, about those that get dragged into another person’s addiction, and those that are unwilling observers.

Can of Beer

Creature hobbling, with your dollar store bug spray.
You skitter and you shamble just out of responsibility,
Accusing others of snarkinesss
while you shit blood in your welfare pants
and glory in your sanctimonious sanctuary
for all the other putrescent rejects
of heaven and earth and hell.
Revel in the ruined drunks and addicts
who crash upon your couch and carpet
and share your flaccid piss drunk bed
Revel pickled putrid sycophant
as you lay beetle black on your back
wriggling your bug legs and antenna
repeating the minutiae of every crappy TV show you watch
because you forgot you watched it last week
and repeated it, and repeated it.
Bragging about your addiction,
a staggering revulsion.
You are reviled  – parasitic revenant
the heart shudders to think of your foul mouth
chomping and slurping on the refuse of your life –
and what you have forsaken
for a can of beer.


2 comments on “Can of Beer

  1. The thing is this person was at one time in his life a man who sailed, wind surfed, rock climbed, mountain climbed, was dashingly handsome and full of a vibrant life. arriving unexpectedly on a motorcycle with a spare helmet off to a new adventure. it is so sad to see what he has done to himself.

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