The Blue Mail Boxes

The yellow cab pulls up to St. Mary’s Hospital

and a man limps over.

You here for John Vernon? he says.

Thank fucking God, he says

getting painfully in the back.

413 N. Cherry St, he says.

Where’s the seatbelt?

Can I smoke? No? I understand,

not your fault.

Jesus, look at me

I look like a god damned Ethiopian.

You wouldn’t know it but I’m only 44.

2 months ago the doctors told me

I had 6 months to live

and now every week I go to that hell-hole

to get my stomach pumped.

My liver’s shot and all

the bad shit just flows

into my stomach.

Today they took out a gallon and a

half.

I used to drink a lot but I never

considered myself a drunk

you know?

I’ve made some mistakes, I ain’t saying

I’m innocent

but I saw a lot of people do a lot more

and they’re still kicking.

Nobody said life was

fair, I guess

at least I’ve got no family

hanging around

you know?

Here, this is me

turn in

at the blue mail boxes.

Sorry it’s not a long fare.

Careful of the speed bumps.

Just go straight down

until you can’t go anymore.

I’ll get out there.

END