Baby Face Chinaski

baby fade chinaski

I don’t have time for your shit,

you post-pubescent misanthrope. 

Once upon a time,

when your ironic alter-ego roamed the streets,

and haunted the bars of dirty L.A.

like a piss-stained ghost,

you were yet a regret in your

bitch of a mother’s misbegotten womb. 

Although I don’t think I blame her

for how you turned out,

given how you beg for the teat

in every Facebook post of yours

I have ever read. 

Maybe I’ll listen to you

when you can grow a mustache

thicker than a row of pubes. 

Until then,

I will simply shake my head,

and comment less and less,

because the only two things you are listening to

in these last days of your misspent youth

are your own mewling laments of growing up too fast,

and the hollow sympathies of girls your own age,

who would sooner court the clap

than give you what you think will make it all better

for just one night,

before the sun rises in your sunken child-eyes,

and you post online once more.         

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

One of These Things

SONY DSC
photo credit uvalaw.typepad.com

Johnny Cash covers

will never be better than

covers sung by Johnny Cash.

 

A home run watched

from the fifth deck at Dodger Stadium

will always be better than

listening to Charley Steiner

call a home run

on my car radio

no offense Charley

you’re not Vin Scully.

 

Sex without love

makes you common

love without sex

makes you a fool

sex and love together

makes you a porn star.

 

Copyright © 2014 Bill Friday