you think it’s romantic
you think
it’s romantic that too drunk to get
off the couch
swilling beer whiskey cheap wine
mornings afternoons you think
it’s romantic that too drunk to get
off the floor in front of the t.v.
the baby’s crying his diaper sopping
wet so romantic so poetic well
you go live it
you go live it
you tell me how romantic
you go live it and you tell me
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
yard full of dogs
barking two houses down
any and all hours of the night
one dozen local cats (give or take)
fighting spitting yowling
screeching spats in syncopation
with the yard of dogs
snoring wife
she subvocalizes too
sometimes even calls out
words she never hears
middle-aged bladder
parked atop my piss-pipe
demanding attentive relief in the dark
this has gone on for months
secret police know the toll
not long before he breaks down
confesses to everything
later in the day at my desk in the office
no place to lie down
no carpet on the hardwood floor
the boss right around the corner
my chair is on wheels
the floor is smooth
no sleeping here no sleeping
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“It has been said, that the greatest curse to each of the South Sea islands, was the first man who discovered it; and every one who knows anything of the history of our commerce in those parts, knows how much truth there is in this; and that the white men, with their vices, have brought in diseases before unknown to the islanders, and which are now sweeping off the native population of the Sandwich Islands, at the rate of one fortieth of the entire population annually. They seem to be a doomed people. The curse of a people calling themselves Christian, seems to follow them everywhere.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast