A little while ago, my friend Dave nominated me for the Word Bucket Challenge. My words were: Vacillate, Thousand, Broken, Wall, Ingredient, and Silver
the wall, beer and pretzels
and all as I got back and it's all,
"did you get it?" and "Great man,
It wasn't much.
Between 80oz of malt
liquor, two bags of sourdough,
gas station cigars and rolling paper,
we were half out of coin
and missing an vital ingredient for
a night of hedonism.
We strolled down by the docks-
the loading docks- all mysterious and out for
trouble, orjust a quiet place, vacillating
between standing menacingly on tired feet
and sitting, un-menacingly on cooling concrete
among a thousand fragments of broken glass.
He struggled to roll it, the sticky night air
forcing sweat to rain from his face, nearly breaking
concentration. He rolled it like a freshman, unsure
but determined, lit up, and took one long drag.
He held it. I chewed, pretzel masking the horrid
taste of the now warming 40.
He was all choking and writhing,
doubled-over in suprirse. "Man,"
he managed, thumping chest. "Those
lying assholes." He expected a high,
not a burning lung. "Said I should try
I handed him a cigar, lit my own
tossing the bottle and silver wrapper
to the dumpster, and said, "Come on." He stood, recovering,