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Drunk In the Suburbs
I am standing with both feet in little plastic inflatable pools
patterned with Disney princesses.
One is filled with ketchup,
the other contains melted chocolate.
My eyes have rolled to the back of my head.
I am making a noise by producing
a high pitched sound ,
and rapidly flapping my tongue in and out of my mouth.
I am wearing shower shoes,
I can feel both substances waddling between my toes.
The smells of vinegar and coca mix
to form a grey-green dissonance
that travels through my sinuses
causing blood to rush to my stomach .
I vomit mostly liquid
onto the grass median between the pools,
a little bit into the ketchup.
No one can hear me gag,
for the sky is distorted with fluffy elephant clouds
blocking my vision to the stars.
There is an illuminated oil lamp spilled over a patch of sky
where the moon is supposed to be.
I’ve always maintained that when I die,
I want to die in public.
If I am murdered,
I want it to be at the hands of a woman.
A passion crime that carries a sentence less severe.
