08 | October | 2021 | Fred Aiken Writing

moments spent hungry while dreaming

are torturous when you think about all the free food

you could have if you just lowered your standards and;

ate moldy crap that no one else wanted

tossed out in rubbish or garbage or flim-flam

depending on where you’re from,

not knowing where to go,

since everything around us will be consumed

one way or another, for one thing, person, place, or moment to shine

like an awkward ornament dangling from a rotten Christmas tree left

out in the sun to blanche

for the summer, in suntan lotion

with bits of sand stuck in its sap

as kids try to eat ice cream made from cruelty-free milk,

because in the food chain no one needs to suffer if we’re all getting fed

I sometimes wish I could say racist things unironically,

perhaps while drunk,

but instead I only play brilliant chess while drunk,

that’s not true,

I have some of the best sex while drunk,

that’s not true,

I write really thought provoking stuff while drunk,

that’s definitely not true,

I meander through my house with a hoarse voice

out of breath

feeling a lot older than I am

trying to remember something thought provoking;

then realizing I haven’t had an original thought since college,

and even that’s questionable,

and I tell myself I need to stop drinking

and I will

after tonight, or maybe next week,

before long I forgot because I sobered up

in bed with a disappointed wife who keeps kicking me and telling me my breath stinks

Fred Aiken Writing