Letter to junior high friend (part I)

by Andy Schuck

Mom always wanted me to be a star.
Goodnight! Would rather drum
at five o’clock on a sweaty Tuesday
than people my pleasure on
blonde magazine cover, waiting
for the girlfriend in satin and
stripes. Walk her down the red
roll. Smiles. Flashes snapping.
Goyle’s screaming. Fancy fashion
heiress come to make us slick. Lick my
lips on the cover of Peep hole magazine.
That’s what the goyle’s think. On the
cover with your lover in a plunder-
you’ll be free next week.
Romance for purchase. Call me crazy
but I’d rather have a
puke dance on the floor of my
Monte Carlo. New mats for the inferior
inebriate. Tarp for the dog shed in the rear.
Underneath my head bleats the radio,
inside the radio beats my heart.
I sing full of nosy patronage to the old
farts. Neil, Bob, Carl Jung. I’m there with all the
fuselage. On top with our Holy See
Holy Do. In touch with Coach
Levy of the Bills. Fired because some
hack kept missing in the play-offs.
I say yer honor took him down, nose
to the mud. Mud is fun when lashed
around your cheeks, spittin’ on the sidewalk.
Make a line for good graces. There’s
a warrant out on you. Keep dreams in the
a-hole, this is war. For further advice,
see Beanroll, in a restaraunte on 87th.
Got good tips for tomorrow’s races.