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neatly broken streets
first easter spent in
the land of bent spoons,
neatly broken streets
coltrane is a lonesome
memory in an alley
down the road
i had a hooker give
me the finger when
i said hello
she must have seen
just how poor i really
am
i remember these
streets decades ago
writing poems on the
corner for shy women
that couldn’t handle
their booze
i remember one
whispered into
my ear how she
loved my way
with words
her husband shot me
a look like i should
have known better
thankfully
not all drunks
know how to
throw punches
while i was out grocery shopping
my mother nearly died
a month ago, while i was
out grocery shopping
congestive heart failure
i made a chicken noodle
casserole the night before
i figured they would have
thought i tried to kill her
she told the squad she didn’t
want to die in the house because
i would have to sell it
and no one wants a house
where x marks the spot
by the time i got home
the only way i knew she
was gone was the front
door wasn’t locked
i checked my emails
and text messages
nothing
i made myself a drink
and decided i didn’t want
to think the worst for at
least a few hours
i texted my sister and asked
if she had spoken to her
she said no
i told her what was up
and started to make calls
to the hospitals
thankfully, the first hospital
i called was where she was
sick minds think alike i suppose
the woman i was talking to said
to call back in an hour or so and
the nurse on call could tell us more
they gave me the room number
i texted my sister all the info
she made the call so we both
could be on it
her room number had changed
it had gone from a lung issue
to a heart issue
my mother was in the hospital
for four days
eventually, i found out her blood
pressure was basically at the level
of someone walking toward the light
my sister doesn’t want to think
that her mother could be dead soon
she thinks mom should be better now
it’s been a month
i know that my mother is going to
have good days and many more
bad days
i have a hard time coping that she’s
going to beat me to death’s door
who knows
maybe i have a bottom of the ninth
rally in me after all
sabotage
i see your smoldering eyes and wonder
when my luck is going to run out
the ego isn’t strong enough to ward off
jealousy and every negative thought
of sabotage that rests deep in my soul
she tells me to simply let go of the past
i wonder if there is a pill or something
better than all these bottles begging
for some attention
and it’s not that i cling to the past like
some child’s blanket
my brain doesn’t possess the ability
to forget
and all the troubling shit
the abuse
the violence
the never-ending sadness
those are fresh like new pages of
a book
and trust me, i would love to write
it all out of me and start the fuck
over
but the only way i know that happens
is a tragic death in the arms of a
woman i love
and i can plainly see you’re not up
for that just yet
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is stuck in the suburbs, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, Horror Sleaze Trash, Cajun Mutt Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, and Jellyfish Whispers. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, Evil Delights.