Through the Cracks We Go

Passenger seat sunk in grease,

tape deck spooling

ice cream, stolen, in the back

a gallon of coke shaken with fervour

I hope its victim had my number

but unscrewed its cap anyway.

He answered the door once 

on the floor, k holed down

he took his boxes, slid.

Another time he made a display

of tipping me several p,

such a waste of Friday high.

My car smelled the worst

it had ever been and the

angry cigarettes I drew

and drew and drew,

smoked out on Lamberts

freaked out on weak tea,

and weak tea I was for

all I had ever asked that year

was to be touched.