there’s a skinny kid in me that
stays up all night
listening to the velvet underground
while hammering back monster energy drink
and chain smoking clove cigarettes
while attempting to speak french
with the exchange student that makes drinking red wine
look like a performance art piece,
but someone came along and shaved that skinny kid’s head
and left him scarred with cigarette marks
all up and down his arms and legs
when you’re a second off
it still seems like an emergency
trying to careen off the road
to avoid a squirrel that wandered into the middle of the road
to announce something very important,
without being heard
it’s been a long time
since i’ve drawn or painted anything,
and sure i’d like to pick up a paintbrush again,
even though i’m also certain what i would
have to paint wouldn’t be technically sound,
nor all that disciplined,
but i’d have acrylic under my nails once again,
and i might feel as if i made something,
even though i probably should have strangled it
before it got loose
Fred Aiken Writing 