“WRITING NOW”

Six minutes
from midnight, I am
already hung-over
by it all. I think
I’ll go outside
and
throw myself
on a missile.

Strolling the sidewalk
of my new block,
I aim myself at
the sounds of
people blowing
fireworks
off.

On the outskirts of
fun,
I look at the moon.
I look at the bonfire.
I look at the front porch,
lit, where people bang
drums. Everyone
is having a good
time
at midnight. They yell
at me, happy
new year.

I raise my glass, turn
around, walk back
to stand alone
in my back
yard,
sipping carrot juice
mimosas
at the beginning
of
twenty thirteen, while
the neighborhood set fire
to their expendable income.

Happy New Year,
go fuck yourselves.

narrative poem written on 01-01-2013 by: on mattkane.com
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