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a poem by Kevin Ridgeway
Sober Living Blues
Incognito, I fled to the suburbs built along
the tearful trails of orange grove ruins
to one of many ticky-tacky boxes
housing bunks for the
ravaged warriors of imaginary wars
nothing to do but slurp burnt slop from
large brewers in glum cracked rooms
bathed in fluorescent glows flickering
seizures for newly-anointed refugees
listening to people belt out anthologies of
their shrinking souls and every lost year
drunk in the dark daydream recollection
yet another shit meeting adjourned with
raffle tickets for free front row seats for a
visiting Elvis impersonator
the last crime that needs to be committed
as the smoke dies down over
my charred ruins is to watch another
diseased male prostitute
shaking his hips and making my head
woozy with the sober living blues.
the tearful trails of orange grove ruins
to one of many ticky-tacky boxes
housing bunks for the
ravaged warriors of imaginary wars
nothing to do but slurp burnt slop from
large brewers in glum cracked rooms
bathed in fluorescent glows flickering
seizures for newly-anointed refugees
listening to people belt out anthologies of
their shrinking souls and every lost year
drunk in the dark daydream recollection
raffle tickets for free front row seats for a
visiting Elvis impersonator
the last crime that needs to be committed
as the smoke dies down over
my charred ruins is to watch another
diseased male prostitute
shaking his hips and making my head
woozy with the sober living blues.
© by Kevin Ridgeway
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #18 ~ November 2011