| Older Poems | ||||||
| by Mike Monroe | ||||||
| Skeletons Of The Road we sped towards the coastal sunset until we flew over a hill and found a rickety old roadhouse at the bottom a dormant weathervane projected from the roof a sign of stillness and staleness we stepped onto the wooden plank porch which was missing a plank here and there an old and lonely dog sat chained crying to be let inside its cries and moans disintegrated into the still stale air and we saw people walk out to view the sky and the desert and we saw people walk in through a ragged screen door we stepped inside where a doorman greeted us his hand had motioned us to step inside and we saw people sitting in flimsy chairs looking at holes in the wall where mice lived and laughing and talking drinking beer and smoking cigars butts and empty bottles scattered the floor and the smell of stale beer permeated the air and sounds of country music rattled the wooden walls upstairs was a room where the crazy ones stayed smoking grass and snorting dust as their minds rotted away laughing and talking and staring through holes in the boarded windows and listening to the floor boards creek they were all too paranoid to walk to the door upstairs was a room where the horny ones stayed they stood in circles naked watching sexy couples hump on the dusty floor as they cheered and hollered and masturbated into the dust they were all too busy to walk to the door upstairs was a room where the violent ones stayed the colonel owned the dusty old place they beat on punching bags until their fists bled they watched mob movies with bloodshot eyes and drank stale beer and whiskey and rum they wouldn�t open the door for anyone upstairs was a room where the tired ones stayed they slept their days away in tears as the light that beamed through the boarded windows tortured them with its constant annoyance as did the sounds of cars speeding by kicking clouds of dust up from the road they were all too tired to walk to the door upstairs was a room where the daydreamers stayed they wanted to be rock stars and movie stars and porno stars and sports stars and every other kind of star but were all too frightened to do anything but dream dusty dreams they were all too scared to walk to the door (Continued) Back to Index E-mail the Poet |
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