I told my sister I would watch the girls so they could leave the temple, stagger the salted streets until they vomit while I played the piano all night with my glass rarely full, a fist full of gin after every song until the
bottle was hollowed like a gutted fish.
I pounded on the vulnerable keys of my grandmother’s gift she had left for me after her soul had had enough.
Slurred the words of other dead punks while the girls played in the other room.
I pounded away.
The girls shopped and scribbled lipstick on their little faces, sang along to the songs they knew from
The smoke from a pack of cigarettes crawled through the air, out the front door and straight into the neighbor’s window to (hopefully) put them out of their misery.
I found three beers in the interim, drank them down, then played some more.
The third beer was the night capper, or should I say morning? I rested my head on the tired keys, one last demented chord while the girls finally slept,
And the sun crawled slow up the grey morning sky.
*Poem by me and Pic by Bizarro Comics