*Things get stupid*

I mostly cringe when I recall old times. I’ve grown
to stand alone on this dark porch—far city lights.

the only star I see, maybe a satellite,
flickers out and I don’t care. The constant moan

of airplanes, the dripping drains, and I see
an old bottle of ale, empty, not far

from a can once filled with corned beef hash but today
with cigarette ash, some spit, vomit and coffee.

Drinking stale joe, I smell a clogged-up john
for fading memories to smear their shit on.