Little Respect By Curtis Blazemore

Wake up this morning the ex’s stupid cat

is on my head, and I fart a warm wind

into the sails of my empty bed,

and I want some good goddam coffee,

but I sure as hell don’t want to get up,

have to make that hot black joe myself.

I think about all those dudes with wives

making them coffee right fucking now.

I think about this while Mister Bones licks

the fur around his kitty cat asshole—

all those wives, making all that coffee, me

without any sonofabitchin java at all.

Maybe I’ll get a gun at Nick’s Lucky Shot

Gun Shop, start packing some real heat,

maybe quit work at the liquor store, hang

at the Soused Spouse Saloon with my alkie

homies, maybe shoot it up until some

bitches start cooking up some coffee,

start showing a little respect, start asking

exactly what the fuck they can do for me.

Curtis Blazemore has been on the planet far too long, publishing various works in between having bad luck and making people rethink their faith in humanity. No matter. He sees sentences in the exhaled smoke and scribbles furiously. He hopes someday to be able to afford a Greyhound bus ticket to Graceland.