Goosed

I stumbled ultra-drunk en route to the car I lived in. This sojourn made after nightlife shuttered. After I passed a group of ladies and heard one say she has all the bruises of sex but isn’t having any. I thought of times I kneeled drunk in dirt, scraped my skin, accrued the same sexless signs as her.

On the streets I sorted through boxes atop a trash can to find one with half a doughy pizza. I snapped it up then fed it to gut to soak fermented swill. As I walked beside the river, grub gold in hand, I thought of a goose the night before. One who pecked my leg. An unprovoked attack though perhaps I passed too close. Continue reading “Goosed”