Just can't feel anything
the day scott's mother died
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he watched his mother
stagger outside
fall to the asphalt
and die
she wiggled
shook
screamed
grabbed her
chest
he stared at her
body
and
put the torch
to the glass pipe
watching from the
window
he didn’t feel
anything
she looked old
but no different than
a minute ago
but shouldn’t he
feel
something
she traded him
to
“lester the molester”
when he was
five
for an eight-ball of
crack and a bottle of
valiums
lester showed him
how to dress up and play
tie-up games
that left his mouth
aching and his
asshole
on fire
but he always made it
feel better
a little pot
talwyn
a little line or
two
people gather to
stare and
shake their heads
knowing the obvious
he remembers the
night men paid to
watch his 10 yr old
sister
have sex
and how he
vomited when one of
old men
ejaculated into
his throat
his mother
sat in the kitchen
grinding coke for the
cooker
but he didn’t feel
anything
filling the end of a
cigarette with the
a crushed
tab of morphine sulfate
he burns the tip
and inhales deeply
waiting for the familiar
rush
eyes sinking
he can’t remember a good
word
something to be said
for the mother that
bore him to this
place
only memories
emotionless memories of
feeling nothing
while gray haired drunks
and coked-out whores
bought and sold his
orifices
without emotion
he flicks the cigarette through
the window
and mutters,
fucking bitch
but he doesn’t feel
anything
J. Masuda © 2004
stagger outside
fall to the asphalt
and die
she wiggled
shook
screamed
grabbed her
chest
he stared at her
body
and
put the torch
to the glass pipe
watching from the
window
he didn’t feel
anything
she looked old
but no different than
a minute ago
but shouldn’t he
feel
something
she traded him
to
“lester the molester”
when he was
five
for an eight-ball of
crack and a bottle of
valiums
lester showed him
how to dress up and play
tie-up games
that left his mouth
aching and his
asshole
on fire
but he always made it
feel better
a little pot
talwyn
a little line or
two
people gather to
stare and
shake their heads
knowing the obvious
he remembers the
night men paid to
watch his 10 yr old
sister
have sex
and how he
vomited when one of
old men
ejaculated into
his throat
his mother
sat in the kitchen
grinding coke for the
cooker
but he didn’t feel
anything
filling the end of a
cigarette with the
a crushed
tab of morphine sulfate
he burns the tip
and inhales deeply
waiting for the familiar
rush
eyes sinking
he can’t remember a good
word
something to be said
for the mother that
bore him to this
place
only memories
emotionless memories of
feeling nothing
while gray haired drunks
and coked-out whores
bought and sold his
orifices
without emotion
he flicks the cigarette through
the window
and mutters,
fucking bitch
but he doesn’t feel
anything
J. Masuda © 2004