
Drunken laundry feature
Illustrations from Neon Eulogy, by Keith McKellarA winner of the 2011 Downtown Eastside Writers' Jamboree Writing Contest.
It takes a six-pack just for him to get it together In that dirty underground room of his His radio is cracked “London’s calling” He gets that mess together into a pile Condemned rags, he thinks, and cracks another beer With a pillow case and a box of soap he heads out with that beer-stained Bukowski book of poems The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses His rooming house is in the DTES The laundromat is around the corner The cashier just on his left The rat, tat, tat of a sewing machine behind the counter Heads for the back Chairs, tables, scattered newspapers, He stuffs his stinky rags into a washer He stays and reads Bukowski Puts his workman rags into the dryer Sinks enough quarters in for an hour and heads for that closest bar “I’ll have two of your cheapest draft” he says to the young bartender He puts Bukowski’s book down to get at a twenty-dollar bill “I think Mr. Bukowski would approve” the bartender says “I’ve read his shit in college, a lot of us have, dude” He heads for that dirty-fish-bowl smoking room Thinks, all right—college students still read Bukowski After the third round and another poem “Song of my typewriter” He heads back in sunglasses Through a gauntlet of drug addicts Curled up in dirty street blankets Syringes scattered with garbage everywhere Skinny hardened rat-faced drug addicts Committing suicide slowly He stops as this twenty-year-old kid jumps in front of him wrapped in a blanket holding a garbage bag suitcase Thin, tall, shaggy long blond hair, blue eyes a sculpted bronze sunken pimpled face Wondering if he’s that fallen angel He looks at him from head to bare dirty feet “Do you want to buy some crack?” “No, my life is hard enough kid, I don’t have to make it any harder man” Sstumbles into the laundromat feeling like he just escaped a bunch of zombies The place is full With the extinct middle class Watches them as they slowly turn into fossils Feels more pity for them Than the ones that are outside committing suicide He opens the dryer door “Jesus Christ, hot as hell” he says out loud Bangs his head Curses in silence “Fuck” Then hears a little voice “Mommy, there’s another man arguing with God again” He turns around, takes off his sunglasses A little girl with sun-kissed freckles smiles As she sits there, on the table Her mother continues folding their clothes With a smile she says “Let the man be, Sara” “My laundry is really hot” he says, in his own mad defiance Stuffs his rags into his pillow case Thinks only of that other warm six-pack Says goodbye to the little girl and her mother Apologizes to them and God He heads back to that dirty little underground To drink and read Bukowski’s drunken knowledge
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raincoaster more than 11 years ago
Drunken Laundry Day
Andrew more than 11 years ago