Let's start that again;
Now that I'm old
Blah blah blah
staring at the waistland
below the belt
that's hitting
like Joe Dimaggio
and
Marilyn Monroe
full count bases loaded
tv is on black and white
wall to wall carpeting
it's almost christmas time
and it's fucking hot out
I need another beer
throw the cans off the deck
we'll shoot at them later

one day he showed me where the pistol was and where the bullets were
and said don't ever shoot this gun, it's old and it might blow up.
The next day after school I loaded it,took it outside and pointed it at a wooden stake next to one of the trees we'd planted and fired.

I'm straying from you.
Something has changed. I can tell you don't love me anymore. I can tell.

He had a bag of weed in his desk drawer. He grew it in the garden between the corn stalks. This was probably a pretty high level security risk- no pun intended. He never smoked it so I kept pinching off of it. I would put some herb,I forget what,in to make it look like it was all there. I think it was oregano.

I could be dying now. I could fucking die. I think about it.