This is out of the last typewriter
tattooed on the left forearm
of the waitress serving my quiche
at the coffeeshop.
I took a pic of that with an iphone
in a desperate push to get published.
Don't text me now, bro.
Out on Mcree Street
we drive down with this song blasting,
they are cookin ribs
sittin on stoops
and taking no selfies.
Johnny rides shotgun
pitiful and out of work-
He bled for the wage and shit his pants post mortum
before he could pay his phone bill.
My buddy Dave, the activist bisexual
was fired from the deli on McKinley street
and felt fucking like a sad sack of shit
moving back in with his mother.
Bill owes $300 a month in student loans for his photography degree,
he buses tables at The Royal 5 days a week
with his pubic beard and vintage T
just to chip away at that debt.
I'm taking my summer class on "masculinity"
and trying to stay skinny, like I used to be.
Jerry plays basketball with his bros
In Lindenwood park
On Thursday afternoons
drenched in sweat all over his baggy T shirt
and has slowly been doing better since upchucking all over his shoes
during the first game.
They smoke battys during the intermissions.
Someone brought a tall boy.
Take notice, listen,
We are the men of This World.
Smell the sunlight
and take our pic-
put that shit straight on Instagram.