Larry Houston
—Poetry by Larry Houston, N. Carolina
BOSSMAN
Bossman drinks beer every Saturday night
in a t-shirt
blue jeans and shitkicker boots
white hair like a rooster
standing up on his head
staggering drunk
bar to bar
his pants bulging
with cash
from Friday’s pay
old Bossman’s
been robbed more than once
and slugged in the head with a bottle
but on Saturday night
as the streetlights come on
with cash in his pockets
and more bars to conquer
he feels like a king
Bossman drinks beer every Saturday night
in a t-shirt
blue jeans and shitkicker boots
white hair like a rooster
standing up on his head
staggering drunk
bar to bar
his pants bulging
with cash
from Friday’s pay
old Bossman’s
been robbed more than once
and slugged in the head with a bottle
but on Saturday night
as the streetlights come on
with cash in his pockets
and more bars to conquer
he feels like a king
MONDAY MORNING
the geese fly in arrowhead shape
cutting through a November sky
going anywhere, anywhere
but here
I take another sip of coffee
taste the bourbon I added
my breath comes in small clouds
shoots away in the wind
I pull up my coat collar, stomp my feet
try to keep warm
Jimmy pulls up in his old truck
the muffler loud in the morning
I put down my cup
walk to the truck
climb in
light my cigar
he mashes the clutch, shifts into gear
drives us to work
the geese fly in arrowhead shape
cutting through a November sky
going anywhere, anywhere
but here
I take another sip of coffee
taste the bourbon I added
my breath comes in small clouds
shoots away in the wind
I pull up my coat collar, stomp my feet
try to keep warm
Jimmy pulls up in his old truck
the muffler loud in the morning
I put down my cup
walk to the truck
climb in
light my cigar
he mashes the clutch, shifts into gear
drives us to work
MISSPENT YOUTH
Saturday night
in the kitchen
it’s hot as hell
and a stream of waitresses
flow in
bringing orders
Jim and I look at each other
he shakes his head and we
load up the ovens and grills
with steaks, seafood, fish
Richard, our runner
restocking
as items ran low
after closing
we sat at the bar
talking
drinking beer
the ice machine dumped
another load in the bin
the bartender counted the till
I lit a cigar
finished my beer
and walked into the night
Saturday night
in the kitchen
it’s hot as hell
and a stream of waitresses
flow in
bringing orders
Jim and I look at each other
he shakes his head and we
load up the ovens and grills
with steaks, seafood, fish
Richard, our runner
restocking
as items ran low
after closing
we sat at the bar
talking
drinking beer
the ice machine dumped
another load in the bin
the bartender counted the till
I lit a cigar
finished my beer
and walked into the night
THREE EXES
he ate pork skins
with hot sauce
on the sagging brown sofa,
drinking beer from a can,
watching NASCAR
in faded blue shorts
and a wife-beater t,
yelling
to cheer on
the young driver
with the shaved head
who was in second place.
he grew weed
in the woods
by a small creek
which he tended
on evenings
and weekends
sold on the side,
to help feed his five kids
by his three ex-wives
two of whom
hated his guts
because driving a truck
didn’t pay for all
he had done in his life
he ate pork skins
with hot sauce
on the sagging brown sofa,
drinking beer from a can,
watching NASCAR
in faded blue shorts
and a wife-beater t,
yelling
to cheer on
the young driver
with the shaved head
who was in second place.
he grew weed
in the woods
by a small creek
which he tended
on evenings
and weekends
sold on the side,
to help feed his five kids
by his three ex-wives
two of whom
hated his guts
because driving a truck
didn’t pay for all
he had done in his life
WASHING MY HAIR AT THE SINK
I come home from the hospital,
an aged old man in soiled clothes
tubes hanging,
like a fat leech,
from my right side
she washes my hair at the sink,
soapy water mixes with tears
that I cry
tears of fear,
of sadness,
indescribable joy
warm water
soothing
the days precious, bittersweet
knowledge
comes late
love is not sex
sweaty and straining,
or strong words
or the taste of her mouth
or the sound of her sleeping
but the touch of her hands
on my gray-haired broken-down body
giving comfort
care, love
washing my hair at the sink
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A poet’s work … to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it from going to sleep.
—Salman Rushdie
_____________________
Today we welcome Larry Houston to the Kitchen as he visits us for the first time. About himself, he writes, “I live near the coast in eastern North Carolina, love the salt air and ocean. I wrote as a young teen and then stopped, starting to write seriously again in the last two years. I have been a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman, a restaurant owner, many other things and now dabble in real estate. I have drawn on life experiences to tell my stories.” Again, Larry, welcome to the Kitchen, and don’t be a stranger!
The latest issue of Strictly East is up on the web at www.strictly-east.org/. Not only does SE have a calendar of East Bay Area events, it also has listings for lots of contests and anthologies to enter. Check it out!
_____________________
—Medusa
I come home from the hospital,
an aged old man in soiled clothes
tubes hanging,
like a fat leech,
from my right side
she washes my hair at the sink,
soapy water mixes with tears
that I cry
tears of fear,
of sadness,
indescribable joy
warm water
soothing
the days precious, bittersweet
knowledge
comes late
love is not sex
sweaty and straining,
or strong words
or the taste of her mouth
or the sound of her sleeping
but the touch of her hands
on my gray-haired broken-down body
giving comfort
care, love
washing my hair at the sink
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A poet’s work … to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it from going to sleep.
—Salman Rushdie
_____________________
Today we welcome Larry Houston to the Kitchen as he visits us for the first time. About himself, he writes, “I live near the coast in eastern North Carolina, love the salt air and ocean. I wrote as a young teen and then stopped, starting to write seriously again in the last two years. I have been a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman, a restaurant owner, many other things and now dabble in real estate. I have drawn on life experiences to tell my stories.” Again, Larry, welcome to the Kitchen, and don’t be a stranger!
The latest issue of Strictly East is up on the web at www.strictly-east.org/. Not only does SE have a calendar of East Bay Area events, it also has listings for lots of contests and anthologies to enter. Check it out!
_____________________
—Medusa
Larry Houston
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