a day in the life by jck hnry

i sit up against

a wall

in a coffeehouse

in a shit part of town

filled with addicts

and hookers

and confidence men

and gang members

all drinking Frappe-fucking-chinos

waiting for sun to set

waiting for lines to queue

waiting for the innocent

to arrive

waiting for cash to flow

the game to begin

all drinking Frappe-fucking-chinos

and this guy

w/a scar and a lazy eye

and a dirty Dallas Cowboys tee shirt

looks at me

and says,

who the fuck are you?

as i slam the keys of a second generation

laptop

a coffee cup half filled with coffee and whiskey

and i say,

i’m writing

and he says,

oh yeah, what about?

and i say,

poems about halfwits like yourself

and he says,

no one gives a fuck about poetry nowadays

i read 

in the

New York Times

that poetry had died

and i didn’t even

realize the New York Times

still existed

and a hooker,

sorry, a sex worker,

sides up to me and

says,

hey baby

and

what’s cooking

and

wanna date?

as she slugs back

her Frappe-fucking-chino

and i say,

maybe later

and she turns

to the dimwit,

they wander off

and the sun begins to set

people leave 

in groups of twos and threes

the solos stay

seated

waiting

for an alarm 

only dogs 

and addicts

can hear

they finally leave as well

and the guy at the counter

says,

hey man. time to go

and i put my POS laptop

into an old leather satchel

exit through

the backdoor

past the dimwit and the sex worker

engaged

in a coitus,

pants down, skirt up,

dead eyes stare back at me

as they grind together

i walk up the alley

past houseless junkies

shooting up 

in the shadows

of society

or maybe they huff

or snort

or something

i stopped paying attention

years ago

and i walk past

a cop

drinking

a Frappe-fucking-chino

he looks at me

nods

eyes dead

thinking about

a girlfriend

or a lover

or someone

that might force

life back into his veins

i walk twelve blocks

to a bar named Vic’s

and walk inside

sit up against the back wall

bang on my POS laptop

waitress says,

you drinkin

i say, 

yeah

she says,

how you doin?

and i say,

i just don’t know anymore

she nods

doesn’t care

barks my order

bartender

she brings it back

leaves

door opens

two gangsters walk in

masks on 

guns out

the one carrying

a Frappe-Fucking-Chino

screams,

this is a stick up

and i think,

no one says stick up anymore

jck hnry is a writer/publisher/editor, based in southeastern california.  recent publications include:  Deuce Coupe, Rye Whiskey Review, Razur Cuts, Cajun Mutt, Dissident Voices, Horror Sleaze Trash, Bold Monkey, Red Fez, dope fiend daily and a bunch of other noble zines and journals.  Books include:  “With the Patience of Monuments (neoPoesis) ,” “Crunked, (Epic Rites)” and the upcoming "Driving w/Crazy (Punk Hostage Press, 2020).”  hnry is also editor and publisher of Heroin Love Songs and 1870. for more go to jackhenry.wordpress.com.