The Poetry of
Kevin Walby
Ma and
Pa arguing
again, About
how to fold
a blanket, I swear, After
twenty-six
years of marriage
Think
they’d had figured it out
but
here she comes to
Save
the day, Grandma
with stale coffee, fresh perm, and a story
from
the Forest Trail school days
So Mr. Debrokah was a real mean bugger
with the Strap, you see
really took it out on
Dennis, your uncle, and his best friend,
Johny Gee
there wasn’t much to do on Forest Trail
for fun, so Dennis and Johny Gee would make
their own
and one time, to get back at old Debrokah,
the bugger,
they took his trombone, turned it upside
down, and filled it
full of Pee, so the next day, the bugger is
gonna blow his horn
and when old Debrokah put it up to his lips
it was all he
could do not to look like a Lemon, and you better believe that
Dennis and Johny Gee got the Strap for that
stunt
then
later on
Dennis
mixed one two many pills
with a bottle of booze
Shake-Rattle-n-Seizure-n
Johny
Gee let his liver s-erode
to a
point a little past healthy
Her two
little boys that made their own
Fun at
Forest Trail ended up
Dead
but
Grandma, she knows
that character all too well
third
person to get the cobalt for cancer
back in
the ‘58 that was
already birthed up seven screamers
before
that
watched
a man get caught
in the threshing machine
all
arms and ripped, legs tangled
when
she cooked on the line
so she knows
about
all a person can do
is put seeds in the ground every spring
and
keep a hearty smile on her face
Home is where your Grandma is
everynightisagogogo
self
proclaimed anarchists
with cell phones
pushing
glowing green number pads
to tell Franky Ends that
tonight
is the night, everynight
people
spit rhetoric across the flagon tables
beads of beer lagoon in tight lip
corners
ritalin
up the nose
the white ones
chopped
up in a toilet stall
with a debit card
pertinently rolled five dollar
bill
a
convenient means
of adjoining powder to blood stream
knew I should have parted
ways with the stuff long time
back
money that is
Franky Ends shows up
a
go-go-go
into the
john
keeps
the nose candy parade in order
plops out on the porcelain a
present from his seller
for
pushing so hard
people’s
heads under water
so long
drooples and oodles of
blood
from a nostril suspended
like a
noodle
in the
full sink
an irregular pace about
the tick-tocker in my chest
becoming
all too familiar
all encompassed
drying out would
be defibrillating
but not in the presence of Franky
Ends
could I
hope for such quietude
he is a blaring anodyne
who with
ginormous, callused
fingers
rolls joints homeopathically, lickity split
down the
middle, how many rupees worth of blow?
chug-a-lug
a pint a pint a pint
unappeasable voraciousness for
drugs
and all things squanderable
we’re back at Franky Ends place
breaks out the bratwurst
stirs
with a wooden spoon
while
vacuuming the carpet headbanging
to the badmotorfinger
punching
holes in his walls
cause
his ex always calls
and it was there
was his
reasoning
i’m out
zonked zipped
clinked clanged
clammed cooked
plain coked-out
oh no your not!!!
pours it out on the table
pours it down my throat
“well,
if we really were anarchists we’d avoid partaking in products harvested by
exploitative…”
…shut the fuck up!!!!
pouring out a glass bowl from
Puerto Rico
epicurean wisps of being
i’m out
oh no your not!!!
he says
while tuning a bass,
flutter-kicking
around
on the floor
like a
stooge
breaks out the Polish Potato
Vodka
pours it
down my throat
chased by an impending plague of
armadillos
this is Franky Ends this is
everynightisagogogo