BERLIN (Reuters) - A swan has fallen in love with a plastic swan-shaped paddleboat on a pond in the German town of Muenster and has spent the past three weeks flirting with the vessel five times its size, a sailing instructor said Friday.
This cement-skied morning in Hell’s
Kitchen, which sounds like we’d be roasting
on our feet, but ice rings tailpipes in the street
as the engine of a dingy van strains,
chokes and sputters like a felled
wildebeest or drunk with whooping cough.
You’d see them rolling joints in class, textbook propped
to hide the task, feathered hair fringing their eyes,
a starter mustache shadowing their upper lips.
A big pink pig—Grand Champ, no less—dozes in the sunny
dirt, domed belly swelling tidally just past the screw-
tailed rump. It looks a little like a naked fat man
snoozing at the fair—refugee from a California
nudist camp or party gone all wrong.
Drunk guy poems have to be some of the saddest
Damned poems ever. The drunk guy pounding
on his typewriter, night after night, drink
after drink, smoke after smoke, getting old
alone, still believing like an angst-eyed
teen in the genius of self-annihilation.
—First published in Sundress Publications
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An audio reading featuring original music by Christopher Tait. Starts at 7:05.
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