LOU RASMUS

I kick up dirt
on the rock shoulder
of the road that I take
to get to the convenience
store by my apartment.
Inside, two fat men
are sitting at a table,
sweating and spitting
food at each other
while they talk about
a football game that
they watched
in the early nineties.
I walk by them and
go up to the counter.
I buy a scratch off
and a lighter.
There’s no A/C
in the place and
I feel sweat form
on my forehead.
The clerk says that
I owe four dollars.
I pay four dollars.
Then I head back home.
I light a bowl,
get high,
scratch the ticket
and sigh when I see that
I didn’t win.
Then I masturbate
and watch a documentary
about gender inequality
and wonder why things are
the way that they are.

DEAD RED FISH