“Real” by J.C. Mari

Real

you load up
on valium to forget

what you did
after 7 long islands
2 vodkas on ice and
one fucking beer

on a very clear Sunday
that
could have been spent
otherwise:

how I have no clue
but
otherwise.

And now there’s
the fear of eyes
like dog-sized rats
trailing you

waiting for you to
slip on your blood and
fall helpless.

The dawn’s
an
open grave
stinking.

I remember US
twisted around each
other like snakes

drunk, asleep
as the wind beat
against
your penthouse windows

a very long
time ago
so long that you’re
not in the picture anymore
and I can’t say I’m
not glad but

THAT
seems more real
now

than what I did
Sunday

after
7 long islands, 2
vodkas on ice and one
fucking beer,

more real than the valium
more real than
the goddam
dog-sized
rats

running
ice blocks
through my mind.

(54 lines)

Justin’s Note: J.C. Mari. The most notorious of the usual suspects. We catch him hangin’ around these parts often. He’s one of us. The writers rejected by the collegiate academic types and everyone else who’s claimed to have mastered the craft. He’s taken residence in this shantytown lit journal filled with all walks of life from pot smoking narcissists to your every day Icarus’.Do I have a bone to pick with J.C.? Yeah, I do. I don’t like warm beer.

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