My e-mails are at least consistent,
Telling me my penis is too small, or my liquor problem is curable…
I guess my existence is a mess, all these organizations trying to help my short and long-term problems…
Literary and figuratively.
My sex life is shot according to “Jim's Enlarge Your Pecker” company.
I’ll think I keep my booze dilemma though.
my second poetry reading party
There I was, a balding
41 year old, cocked…
Dancing at this college party after a poetry reading to “Roll Over DJ” by Jet…
Drooling praise over the band—feeling
like I have discovered the next Beatles…
Then some busty co-ed politely taps me on the shoulder and
burst my bubble…
“These guys have been around for a while you know,” she says, looking at me
with soft, teary eyes.
“But I liked your poetry.”
A small victory for a middle age outlaw.
The song ends quickly, I gather my composer, take a swig of Wild Turkey and ask
“Anybody heard of Molly Hatchet?”