Drinking

Nothing Of Real Importance

I have nothing of real importance to do today

Nothing urgent which I must get done

I sneak a peek out the window

Yes, it’s still sunny

There are still no movements to the palms

The paper said in could get to 90 today

Sounds just about perfect

So why so sluggish?

Why ya moving so slow, kiddo?

No answers come to mind

So best to just let the thought fade

But before I can the voice of reason pipes up

You could wash and wax the car?

No

You could finish touching up the paint in the bedroom?

No

Go for hike?

No, too hot

Ride your bike?

No and no

Go swimming?

God damn it, no

Fine, just be like this

At times you wonder why people call you a dick?

Now you have an answer

Well, if nothing else

At least write something

And make sure it’s good

Something you can live with,

You old cantankerous fool

Ok, ok, ok

I’ll try to write at the old typer

See what I can pound out of her

So I mix an old standby, just like Frank used to do

3 cubes, 2 fingers and a splash of water

Then I went and sat by that old bitch of a machine

2 hours and 5 drinks later,

I am still here

And I never did write anything truly great,

Nothing of any real substance

But there will days like this, I know

Never finish the next great American poem

No big prizes for the writing

Nope, not today

And actually, I only wrote one piece that whole time

And you just finished reading it

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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Tonight Is One Of Those Nights

I sit at this computer

Filling lines with useless words

Some days/nights I can write a lot

But nights like this, tend to get me down

I fill line after line

Write word after word

But in the end,

After all the typing,

I haven’t created anything I like

This, to me, is worse than

Having written nothing at all

Be it from writers block or laziness

At least I can lie to myself with those

Convincing myself that all those words

Would have been good,

If only I had typed them out

It’s a simple lie,

And I’d buy it

But, no

Instead, I’ve got lines

After miserable lines

Filled with nothing truthful

Nothing of interest

Not a thing I like

It’s times like this

When a drink is required

Tonight is one of those nights

I’ll take mine straight

And make it a double

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

The Etiquette Of Navigating A Corkage Fee

Twenty-five dollars

That cock-sucker of a waiter

Wants twenty-five god damned dollars

What for?

For nothing

He did absolutely nothing

I brought the wine

I opened it, even though I knew not to

He said there would be a corkage fee

I agreed

But twenty-five dollars?

The whole bottle cost only thirty

Perhaps we can work this out, I thought

Finally, I had the answer

I put my money, for the meal, in the checkholder

I pretended to go to the bathroom

But slid out the kitchen, instead

Twenty-five dollars?

Suck my cock

You get none of it, garçon

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

* Number 3 from Muses and Other Gauche Thoughts

Path Of Life

The path of life is seldom a straight one

there are curves and switchbacks

Ups and downs

This rings true for all of us

Some days are filled with momentum

Some crawl by like a snail

Summer moves with the speed of a bullet

Winter sometimes moves in reverse

The good nights will be the shortest

The bad days will seem never-ending

And along the way there are rocks on the path

Fallen branches, obstacles

Some big, which require planning and actions

Many are small, which only require a slight change of course

Take this typewriter, for example

The ribbon has run dry

A small obstacle

For there is a replacement, in the other room

As for the gin

This is harder to solve

Because it has run out

and it’s 2:43 am

and there is no way to buy any more

See what I mean?

See how the path can be easy or hard?

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Charlie And His Good View

Charlie was coming over

He owed me twenty bucks

And he wanted to settle up

I like Charlie for this reason

He’s a straight shooter

Lose a bet?

He pays up

And if not right away, you knows he’s good for it

I beat him on a twenty-dollar game of pool, last night

He played like shit

He’s usually much better than I am

But not last night

Hence the reason I’m waiting on him

Charlie lives behind me, a few streets over

So I smoked a cigarette and waited for him out on the lanai

And as I saw him appear between the houses, he stopped

He clutched a paper bag in his left hand

While his right held his smoke

He stood there for about thirty seconds

Just staring out

Like he was watching a movie, on a big screen

After that, he threw his smoke away

And wandered to my back door

We greeted with a hand shake

His palm was laced with a twenty-dollar bill

A covert pass, like we were under surveillance

He came in, put the bag down

And pulled out a bottle of scotch

I grabbed the glasses and filled them with ice

We sat back there for about an hour, drinking

Trying to forge a plan for the night to come

Suddenly I remembered his far away gaze

“What were you staring at, in the back yard?”

“Hmm? Oh, that.  Your neighbors were fucking on top if their hot tub.”

His words came across as casual as could be

Like this was an everyday afternoon occurrence

“Really?  Right out in the open?”

“Yeah”, he said “Hey, what do you have to eat?”

Still stunned, I murmured for him to check for himself

He came back with a sandwich

And my neighbors, and their sex on the hot tub

Never came up, again

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Thank Days, Great Stuff

She shuffled around in the kitchen

I was stuck on the couch

Wondering what she could be doing

She had just arrived

Came through the door like a hurricane

Speaking about the traffic

The snowbirds

The lines

All the time her simple drive took

I can hear her moving chairs

I can hear her opening and closing cupboards

I try to imagine what she’s doing

She whips back into the room

She puts two glasses on the table

And pulls a bottle of rum from a paper bag

She pulls off the top

And fills both glasses to the top

No room for soda

No room for ice

It’s going to be one of those evenings

Thank days, great stuff

She takes a strong pull and jumps off the couch

In a mere second she’s gone

She’s back in the kitchen, rummaging again

What more could she possibly need?

After a minute

The kitchen falls quiet

Just the noise from a piano and trumpet on my radio

Then I hear talking

A low mumbling which I can’t make out

If she’s talking to me she’ll have to come back in here

But she does not

She’s on my phone

No idea who she’s talking to

I guess it makes no difference

I notice her half empty glass of rum

I pick up my glass and use it to refill hers

She can drink it lukewarm

I want mine with ice

So I grab both glasses

And make my way to the kitchen

She’s seated at the table

With her head in one hand

And the phone in the other

I place her now full glass in front of her

She says nothing

She seems to be listening intently

I put ice in my glass

And head back to the couch

I think again, about who she might be talking to

But the thought passes quickly

I reach over

And turn up the volume

Coltrane is on, now

And I enjoy his company

More than she enjoys mine

© D J Loweman 2015

Solid Advice

I go to bed too late

I rise up too early

The sky is still blue

And the water flowing from my pipes is still clear

Dogs still bark

And shit on my lawn, sometime in the night

My neighbor is still a pain in the crotch

And I have nothing in the fridge to eat

Boys will be boys

And the girls will still be girls

This is life, Kido

Nothing really changes

Not in a major sense of way

There will still be babies born

And the old and young alike, will still die

I’ll keep wondering off at nothing

And laugh at the same, when I get back

The day is light

The night, dark

These are the things we can count on

And do count on

And that’s just about all I seem to need

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

Partially Deft Or Not Giving A Shit

You never listen to me

That’s all I heard

I wasn’t paying attention

I couldn’t have cared less

Irritaion can leave a smurk on ones lips

She’s just a filler

Filling in the cracks

She looks pissed

She is pissed

Not pissed off

Pissed

She’s looking right through me

But I won’t look back

I’m in a better place

I’m somewhere else

I have better things to do

It’s not deafness, you see

Just a wee bit deft

Did you hear a thing I said?

Yes

And

No

Don’t care

And won’t

I think

It’s best

If

She leaves

Now

© Dicky J Loweman 2105

Static And White Noise

It’s late

And there will be no sleep for this fool, tonight

I’ve mixed drinks with writing, for the last several hours

In one sudden instant, I feel a need to change things up

I turn on the old radio

The same one I’ve played for years

The one with the broken glass faceplate

The one which has the knobs that stick

The one with so much age, it only has AM

It is beautiful, though

Dark wood panelling

And so much detail

Tonight as I scan the dial, I can’t find anything

White noise and static

Country music about beers and lost loves

Late night lectures on the wrath of God

And why I’ll surely burn in hell

In all the wonderful afterlife

There’s a late-night jazz station

I can sometimes pick up, but only in the wee-hours

It plays the sad ballads

With slow and soft piano

And long drawn out trumpet

If there is a god, she would own a seedy bar

And this is the music she would play

But I can’t find the station

Maybe it’s the weather

Maybe I was the only listener the station had

And because I haven’t listened for a spell

The whole station just dried up and blew away

That’s probably it

And the cause of all this static and white noise

Right around the 570 kHz mark

So I mix another drink

I’ve switched it up and gone onto

A lovely gin and tonic

With extra lime

And heavy on the tonic

I start to type, again

And soon I’m lost in this

Sad and hidden world

This sad and hidden world, which I love

And I don’t even seem to notice

That my favorite old radio

Plays no music

But only hisses at me

Through barely audible breaths

Of static

And white noise

© Dicky J Loweman 2015