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Floor it It’s never too late to drive out of your fucked-up childhood; FLOOR IT! You don’t have to stay married to it, though you’ll drag it through your life like the cans tied to your back bumper after the wedding, and every time you stop the car to think it over, those cans will bash the back of your brain. So, as a man in a bar on the west coast of Ireland said one morning, “don’t think alone.” Get to the therapy garage, go up on the rack (yes, this metaphor’s getting a lot of mileage on it, but who cares?) and lose the cans, one by one. Then, floor it. |
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BEEN OUT OF SCHOOL WAY TOO LONG
Come and get my poems, enroll in my school of poetry, make yourself at home and don't worry, it's
not that kind of poetry school; the cafeteria is much more Pumpkin Pie and Hush Puppies than Cassoulet and Coq au Vin, though those last two are marvelous, blackened,
with a side saucer of Twinkie cream.