from the shower across the dayroom at shaver psychiatric
naked as the dawn, a spring in his step
his nuts hanging, he’s a happy man
until he slips in the doorway to his room
falls and hits his head
he wakes up to find eight of us staring at him
"are you with us sir? we need to assess you"
he’s still stark naked
"yeah yeah, ok, hold on a second"
he grabs a towel and starts buffing his nuts
"we have to get your blood pressure sir"
"ok, ok, hold it a second," he says
continuing to polish his testicles with ambition
the scene goes on unchanged for fifteen minutes
he’s way clean and dry down there

now every time i take a shower and wash my crotch
i have to smile

i worked christmas and the day after
both time-and-a-half days
unless you worked christmas
then the next day wasn’t overtime
that’s ok
i wouldn’t wanna break the “nonprofit”
with my unbridled greed

if the company you work for
says tuesday is wednesday
unless you have a union or quit the job
tuesday is wednesday

rich folks can do whatever they want
and it’s illegal to be poor
that’s connotation, not denotation
but slap me if i’m wrong
all men are created equal
and women are free to jump off the boat
and find a dolphin to ride

man it’s twee heaven
i’m in a coffee shop reading malcolm gladwell
trying to ignore the hippie barista
and a sensitive young patron
as they compare their hard life and times
a dude comes in, a famous mess
barefoot, pajama bottoms and drunker than a tavern
"can i have a free french cappuccino?"
the barista says yes and while she makes it
he leans into my space making comments
he’s way too smashed to deliver with any trace of pinache
"here’s…  this guy…"
she gives him his coffee
"oh man… it’s not french…"
he staggers out of the place, cup in hand
the kid customer asks if he comes in a lot
"he’s been in here a few times," says the barista
"the guy ever wear shoes?" i ask
"i don’t judge," she says, lip ring quivering
no judging from her, except for me--
constructing a gallows and sentencing me to hang
for being old, male and normal
well she’s got me there

my god, the love for billy joel here
it’s touching
"is it billy joel night?"
"yes!"
"is every night billy joel night?"
"yes!"

boring, useless and impossible
i understand why these are not the first listings
in the job description
but they should be somewhere on the page

alienation isn’t profound
it’s the nation we live in
but my alienation is epic
i’m alienated from the hepcats in this dive
the ladies who ignore me
the god who hides from me
the cops on the street
the politicians who “represent” me
the managers who “manage” me
the hicks i work with
the patients i work for
myself for eating meat
the motivation that abandoned me
the technology that sidetracks me
the music i’m commanded to enjoy
certainly the dart players
the capitalists, the communists
the smokers, the foodies
the carpenters, plumbers, electricians
rats, tigers, lions
the trolls who hate anyone who does anything
i do love cats and dogs
alcohol agrees with me
i’m popular with bartenders
i dig commercials
and the people who read these poems
thanks for listening
sorry

some visions are pedestrian
workaday
bring them home for night time consumption
then out with the fishbones
but you
you're a memory i'll stick under the tree
unwrap at christmas

there's a moment in every flight
when the plane is banking away from the airport
you get a dizzy view of the landscape
and realize this is nuts

depends how many drinks you’re down
how much is in your wallet
what you’ve spent, what remains
who owns the world?
i could make a huge, expansive list
but it would be defective
the best answer
is you
you own the world
there’s room in your pocket
you can keep what you can carry