A 47 Year Old Teenager by Brian Rihlmann

on my day off 
I sit here in my car at the park
where I’ve come to
get away from my
new roommate/ landlady/ ex-girlfriend/ friend
who’s turned out to be
a much bigger pain in the ass
than I’d ever imagined 
 
she works from home
and her computer sits right
by the front door so I
cannot come and go
without a certain scrutiny 
and there’s always some problem, lately—
I shit and my shit stinks
and I didn’t close the bathroom door 
and turn the fan on
or I parked wrong
and blocked the neighbor in
or she thinks I was too rough 
with her stupid, precious mutt 
because he’s agitated and
acting like a maniac (as usual....
but it must’ve been me)
or I snubbed the neighbor 
by not returning his hello
even though I truly didn’t hear it 
as I was preoccupied as usual
and now I’ve made 
a bad impression....
like I do by sitting on the front steps 
after work and picking the toe jam
out from between my toes
because my socks are black
and linty and I know that tracking it
through the house 
would also get me a talking to...
and would I mind vacuuming my room 
regularly? as the carpet’s brand new, and....
 
well, you get the picture 
 
I feel like a goddamn teenager here
but I guess that’s my own damn fault
for the way I’ve lived
for my hatred of responsibility 
for not buying a place of my own here
back in 2010....when I could’ve afforded it
for never going to college 
never choosing a career path
for being unwilling, now
to work 60-70 hours a week
like a good American slave
just to afford a one-bedroom apartment 
in this town
where I’d be able to sit around
with my balls hanging out
(and without the dog trying to lick them)
drinking beer and farting openly
a place I could bring home whores
to fuck on my second hand couch
or more likely (these days)
to watch porn in the living room 
on my big screen tv
with the volume up
instead of through headphones
on my laptop 
in my little 10x10 foot bedroom cell
 
maybe I’d even
get a cat, you know?
that grace they have...
maybe a little of that
would rub off on me
god knows
I could use it

Brian Rihlmann lives in Reno, Nevada. His work has appeared in many magazines, including The Rye Whiskey Review, Chiron Review, The Main Street Rag, The American Journal Of Poetry, and New York Quarterly. He has authored three collections of poetry, most recently “A Screaming Place,” (2021) by Cajun Mutt Press.

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