Sunday, February 5, 2023

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.

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