THE SENSE OF DECORUM IN POVERTY

April 1, 2008

I put on a shirt
with a couple of
gone buttons and a
pair of pants my wife
hates and walk into
the living room and
sit down in a dull
chair. In this way I
acknowledge nothing’s
going on. If I
wanted to really
suffer I could go
lie down in some shit,
but that transgresses
the fine line between
propriety and
masochism. If
I were any kind
of poet I’d go
stick up a Jiffy
Mart or, Say, the First
Bank of the Cosmic
Imagination.
Then I could buy a
red plaid jacket with
a rooster tie and
stumble out into
the clear autumn air
crowing “Guilty! Life,
I’m your beautiful
man.”

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2 Responses to “THE SENSE OF DECORUM IN POVERTY”

  1. Dave Monroe Says:

    Reminded me of when I saw Everette read at Gallier Hall one morning, scotch in hand to ward off the eyes of the pressed shirts in the audience. Always one to dress well, even when he was sleeping on the stools at Maple Leaf. He gave me a copy of the Everette Maddox Song Book, when I ran into him on Valentine’s Day. I still treasur it and miss him. Thanks for the postings.


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