Wednesday

Wednesday

Death slept late, missed morning cartoons,
had to have lunch
for breakfast cause he stayed up too late blogging.

Met a friend for drinks in the early afternoon,
killed time staring at the waitress’s ass.
Tried to work up the courage

to ask her out. Probably for the best.
Saw Wally on the way home, couldn’t remember
the last time they’d jammed.

Wally played a mean saxophone. Death managed bass.
He watched Wally waddle down the sidewalk,
his wife Susan trailing

behind, head down, her body sagging like a landfill,
arm stretched behind her, dragging their kid. Ronald?

Death tried not to think of the party,
was it five winters before?
When he’d knelt before her, lapping between her legs
like a Labrador, Wally,

getting felt up by that cute girl from Virginia Tech
in the other room.



C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Hamilton Stone