A Response to Charles Bukowski: Yes I’m Drinking Today
booted-up, in the makeshift office/mudroom, my old laptop
out again.
I write from my drinking chair
as I’ve done for the past seventeen years.
will see my psychiatrist,
Monday.
“yes Doc, the Xanax helps my anxiety.
but it knocks me out,
I mean it really knocks me out.”
“you’re not getting rest,
are you?
I know what you need,
maybe some Ambien.”
more meds,
that’s what has defined my life
at age thirty-nine.
even at work,
it all seems so futile.
like a throwaway plastic knife,
it’s only sharp enough to cut so deep.
janitor often knocks on the door to my classroom,
“you still here boss” he asks?
while rubbing his persistently
arthritic left wrist,
too swollen to even wear
a watch.
I tell him,
“yeah, living the dream brother.”
he gives me a noncommittal nod,
knowing the well-told lie like the crease in his neck.
so here I am
just a middle-aged joker,
an amateur writer at best trying to emulate
trying to copy because I’m too tired to create,
with my cracked-screen laptop.
something is coming
across the floor
toward
me.
wait
oh, it’s just
my can of beer
this
time.
The Bohemian Waitress
Accent thick,
Traditional Czech dress,
Red and black,
Brown nylons tucked into
White gym shoes.
“Hello, can I take your order?”
We say,
“Becks, apricot stone sour, Becks, Chablis.”
She says, “Okay.”
Grandma says, “Oh, I’ll take an apricot stone sour, too.”
“Better make that two,” Father jokes.
Bread basket,
Rye bread.
But Cousin Becky eats the crackers,
Plain,
A thirty-two-year-old
Drinking kiddy cocktails because of the
Wellbutrin,
And eating crackers.
Butter,
Real butter,
Not margarine,
Sitting at room temperature,
Soft.
“Beef noodle, liver dumpling, or goulash?”
Soup,
Sitting in cups
Sitting on saucers
Sitting on the circular table,
Hot.
Uncle Bill says,
“No soup, prune juice please.”
Probably because of the
High blood pressure.
Main course,
Breaded pork tenderloin,
Capon,
Lamb shank,
Or duck.
Dumplings, mashed, or rice,
Sticky-starchy,
More brown gravy,
Please.
“I’ll take the cucumber salad.”
“That will be one dollar more.”
“No problem.”
Chitter-chatter,
Chitter-chatter.
Forks and knives scraping plates
Like forks and knives scraping plates.
Dessert,
Apple strudel,
Apricot kolacky, cheese kolacky, raspberry kolacky,
Pudding or ice cream.
To go boxes,
“Sure.”
Until the next birthday,
Or the next funeral.
But the Bohemian waitress,
She’s
Always
There.
Kurt Schuett is an ward-winning writer and educator. Insurgency is Kurt’s debut novel, a speculative work of fiction that encompasses elements of urban suspense, thriller, and horror, and it is set to release during the summer of 2014 through Assent Publishing. In addition, Kurt’s short work of fiction, a southern gothic ghost story titled “Calamity James,” will appear in the Belle Reve Literary Journal on Monday, October 28th, 2013.
