SHORT STORY - THE WORLD IS A COCKSUCKER

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POEM - HOUSEMATES

HOUSEMATES
There was one thing
that really pissed me off
about living with those guys
it was that they’d never
refill the ice trays.
They’d just use all the ice cubes
to make their drinks
and then they’d leave the tray
out on counter
and move onto the next one.
And after all the trays were empty,
they just stopped using ice altogether.
I’d come home late at night
maybe from work or some party
I’d go into the freezer to get ice
to make a drink
a ‘nightcap’ is what I’d call it
but there’d be no trays full of ice
I’d look to the counter
stacked up and empty
there they were
I’d swallow hard and blink
turn towards the ceiling
towards the second floor
towards their bedrooms
I’d scream,
“oh! You lazy scumbags! What the fuck
is wrong with you guys?”

POEM - LIKE MOTHER LIKE SON

LIKE MOTHER LIKE SON
My mother had turned fifty
a few days before.
She came back from work
on a Tuesday afternoon
said to me,
“you know what? Now that
I’m fifty years old,
I just don’t give a damn anymore.”
I was seventeen at the time
I smiled back at her and said,
“hell, ma, I’ve been feeling
that way for years.”

SHORT SHORT - SOUTHERN BOURBON BEANS

SOUTHERN BOURBON BEANS
by Jack Tom
She called me up on the phone and said, “I’m so low on money right now I’ve decided I won’t go to the grocery store until I finish all the food in my fridge and cupboards.”
“so where are you now? Gotten to the canned goods yet?”
“hee hee. Yeah. I’m eating beans on toast. It’s not so bad.”
“naw, it’s not so bad. I’m on the canned goods, too. Right now I’m frying a can of black beans and flavoring them with cayenne pepper and Jim Beam.”
“Jim Beam?”
“yeah, I’m callin’ ‘em Southern Bourbon beans.”
“did you just make that up?”
“yeah.”
“what’ll you eat them on?”
“I’ve got some stale tortillas that I think I can make soft with a little more Jim Beam.”
“you’re wasting a lot of whiskey on food, huh? That’s not like you.”
“I don’t like me either.”
“no, no. That’s not what I said.”
“what’d you say?”
“are you drunk? You don’t sound drunk.”
“what does drunk sound like?”
“you know, c’mon. You know how you sound when you’re drunk.”
“do I sound like this? AHHH! AAHHHH FUCKKKK!! I’m SOOOO FUCKKIN’ DRUNKKK!”
“hee hee. Yeah, exactly like that.”
“ah, nice. I still got it.”
“so, are you?”
“listen, baby. We’re both eating out the last of our food. We’re broke and I’m jobless and the idea of us never being together again is worse than the idea of gouging out my eyes with dull pencils. Of course I’m drunk. How else could I make it through?”
“oh, god.”
“listen. I gotta go. These Southern bourbon beans are just about done. I’ll talk to you later.”
“all right, Jack. goodbye.”
“see ya around.”