faceb
ook is funny
weird collection of
ALL MY DEEPEST FEELINGS FOR
MY 150 PEOPLE WIDE
UNIVERSE and hyper-
targeted ads for car insurance.
walking dead is filming in
my driveway
(that is a change of
subject and not poetry but
oops now it's poetry)
(literally happening)
so there is a cop in my
front yard
(I call the parking lot in
front of our condo where
the kids bump spanish-
language hip hop and
Kendrick and fix cars, etc.,
my front yard)
and it's making me
territorial.
Every few hours, I go out
there, my gay ass half
naked pride self - joggers
and a grey tank top,
shades. long hair. pink
nails. keys and lighter
lanyarded to my wrist
with a cup of coffee and a
(small, I am old) joint
stand on one of the dirt
islands in my asphalt front
yard, one birkenstocked
foot on the ground, one
kicked back, sole against
a tree
and smoke at him.
done it twice now
every time he gets
increasingly aware of my
presence. last time he
touched (just touched, like
to reassure himself) his
gun
a little pat
I wonder how long I can
keep doing this
and what he will do about
it
because the thing is
he's on private property
doesn't look like it. but it
is.
it's a ticket, and I don't
have id on me. why would
I, in my front yard.
so.
Happy pride bro.
Honored to know you.
just thinking about shit
I'm good.
Just...having a hot one.
(you should come visit.)
it is so funny to me that
this whole ass poem
started because I typed
"faceb" into here instead
of the browser bar and
was a little embarrassed
and spun up a story to
cover it
and now here we are