Laborer Unskilled – Joseph Goosey

December 21, 2021

“Saturday, Stockbridge GA, Last August Ever”

 
All of the houses are on fire & still
their average prices never dip
below a cool, unconscionable quarter mil.

The wife and I just wanted to spend
a reasonable three hundred thou
on something charming

is a sentence I’m exposed to
as I boil in this hot tub
surrounded by a shitty electrical job

it could be the last sentence I hear

as I watch an orb weaver
build her own damn house for free.

She’s my new king
& she’s seafoam as an exit

while I’m not responding
to the latest message in this thread
nor to any of the others.

I do not consent
to any of this responsibility
other than not to drown

prior to my ticketed time.

 
 
“So, What Do You Do?”

 

my body has become virulently suspect
of the word “market” 

the ice rattling inside this copper
holding my gin & water 
sounds a chime
summoning someone 
so grand we elect to quit
with zero weeks notice
& no prospects of a net 

while Jackie Collins painted violets 
the remainder bellowed off a cliff

and all the talk show hosts creamed their suit pants                            
saying uhuhbabyyahuhuhalright

I go to bed so early now          
’cause I begin drinking so early now

It’s all part of a plan & no 

I’m not talking about Drake 
I’m talking about leaving 

I’m talking about clinging to the raft
& flinging my husk
onto the evacuation choppers  

I feel their blades plowing through

all over any wellbeing 
we’ve managed to steal 

 
 
“Or; I Hallucinated You Held The Title”

 
Each of us is an event.
Some – a cruel circus.
Others – fleas
turned blood stained sheets.
I don’t really know
where else to go from there
‘cept fire the we insert
into the atmosphere
will be the end of each specie
but meanwhile Anne & Kayo
Sexton’s House is off the Weston market for now
but worth an estimated 2.5 mil.
I’m sure if one tries to negotiate that
down a tart wraith appears
tossing burning ink
into your Merlot bloated face.
Morning beers required,
No shower called for.
I ache incredulously
and lack the proper vocabulary
for name brand remorse.

 
 
“Poem Written While Delivering Hooters Curbside Pickup”

 
Who is any of this even for?
I ask & don’t delineate

in your generalized anxiety
as well as direction

inside of whom
I’m unceasingly craving

to become a permanent fixture.

 
 
“A Room Of One’s Own II”

 
…where the room explodes
& Bruce Willis doesn’t get his man
or his woman. Whatever.
I haven’t decided
whether this is seductive
or bullshit action or both.
Preferably both. Preferably all.
It’s finally time for Bruce to play it Bi.
After all, everyone
with a diamond filled throat
in this expiring universe
is named Bruce. O,
I’ve got it. This is the finest tragedy
to ever go unseen.

 
 
“How Much, If At All, Will These Cigs Harm My Mouthwound?”

 

As I dropped Charlie off at his salon
where he fixes people’s finger nails
& gabs politik
in a client friendly manner
he said he looked like death
microwaved over with oatmeal,
then he kissed my forehead
& implored I call him.

That was four years ago
& I haven’t called anyone.

I’m just trying to do Doordash
enough to buy a 4 season camp
near Alton, New Hampshire.

It didn’t have to be this way.

If I had the amount of $
I’ve spent on booze
over the past 16 years
I could snag a small campground.

Instead I chose
to allow twinks of acquaintances
to rim me with a mouthful
of purified crushed ice
only never to see them again

& to allow the estates lawyer
to hunt me down daily.

It didn’t have to be this way.
Or it did. I don’t know. I hate
playing the arbiter of good taste.

 
 
“A Room Of One’s Own IV: Who’s Afraid Of Bruce?”

 
…where someone is likely afraid
of Bruce Benderson but not Bruce
Willis. Bruce tops Bruce. Bruce on Bruce:
the previously unreleased
pornographic documentary.
The possibilities are not endless
but they are voluminous.
I can’t remember the man’s name
who kept wanting to parade
my not-so-young tail
all through Curt’s Cucina. Curt
being his wingman, plying me
with Sangiovese refills
& menu substitutions, knowing
if he wouldn’t say no to those
I couldn’t say no to whatshisname.
Definitely not Bruce. Had it been
Bruce, this ending would be different.
This ending wouldn’t be what it is:
to consider the outcome
of being alone.