NMS (August 7/1979 / Santiago de Cali)

Matter Of Time

the phone rang
it was Joe, so i said 'what's up, Joe? '
he said tara just killed herself
silence eyaculated all over the phone line

i wore my only suit
joe was having a rough day
but still the tie looked impeccable
hanging over my empty stomach
joe was living a really fucked up day

once the sermon was over i said 'joe, let's go'
the man was saliva and mucous and tears and grief
gentle pats on the back
won't spill tara's brains in her again

it was getting hot but the tie looked so good i waited

drove to a bar and ordered two J.D's
joe looked at me as if hope had tattooed itself on my retina
man drink up i said to joe
he did
the sobbing ceased

dropped joe back at his place
hard shit i thought without saying it
probably her wet dreams,
impure thoughts,
good actions,
white sins,
were still splattered all over the kitchen walls
i drove off and through the rearview mirror i could see joe go in

Mahler was trapped in the radio and
the tie looked so in place and
the weather was getting chilly and
joe was now a widow and
i was just praying for no more phone calls
and for a never ending bottle of beer

by nicolas m. soto

Other poems of M. SOTO (7)

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