weeds
cost me thirty bucks all in
two glasses of bombay-on-the-rocks
then another drink to pay off after losing at 8-ball
and a couple bucks to the barman
the entertainment lacked something rich
except for two performances
one, the crazed gorgeous senior declaiming violently
on middle-east politics, even
shrieking here and there
—a lota good that’ll do—
then chuck rolled out something from the past
about an aging rollicking r & b diva
shaking up a summer chicago political block party
on her way to a hoped-for comeback
then the one about the dying brother
hallucinating bravely before the nurses
put him back to bed—it said
something strong, moving even, about
endurance and imagination
even on the way out
i passed when i was offered the mike
too out of shape even for this
unsubtle venue, maybe in the next life
assuming the gods are generous
july 2013
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