subdues the fangs

of a mortgage

you never wanted,

clucking of the wife

you can’t stand,

job you can’t afford to quit.

tip the last drops

across your tongue

toss it into the back seat

gun the red

at fluer and mlk.

second and third

go down quick

breath mints

in the parking lot

thinking how

your father lived like this.

it cost him plenty

but you don’t give a shit.

can’t remember

the last time

you did.

by Justin Hyde