CLOSED MONDAYS

the girl from india left a lot behind.
she was moving to queens because
her roommates were going back to
europe. i was moving in. the place
was good sized. they left all the dishes
and glasses. they left a couch and
medicine and food in the fridge. the
first day we moved in she was back
and forth three times. she still had shit
to clear out she told me. around midnight
i got home from work. ronnie and frank
took the girls to shea and they were there
and so was she, “i’m sorry.” -she said and
i told her not to worry about it, “want a beer?” -
i asked and she said sure. her name was stecha
or something. we played music and smoked
some pot. got a couple sandwiches across the
street. billy called and said he was taking piano
lessons after he saw a foo fighter concert
at the hammerstein. whatever i told him.
last month he was a writer. the year before
he was taking acting lessons. maybe you
should just stick with one thing i said. i think
this is it he told me. his wife was worse off
with the polish accent and her breath always
stunk. i took the indian girl in the bedroom
and she watched me write for a bit. we had short
sex after that. it was pitch dark. she rode me a good ten
minutes. i talked dirty in her right ear. i never came
with the rubber on and when morning called she got up,
got dressed and fell asleep next to me again. she woke
up twice to tell me she was leaving. half past the hour
stecha told me. frank was in the other room with what’s
her name. he thought he liked her.

- m.a. internicola

BRAVE LITTLE DAUGHTER BLUES

cocaine is a stupid fuck. it's a bad word.
it's a bad bad drug. it leaves four adults
in a conversation about tea bagging
come three in the afternoon when they
should be on the job. it leaves four adults
strung out at brownies where you can't
talk loud or swear but you can do rails
at the bar. it puts little girls in situations
that most certainly would break their parents
hearts. it destroys self worth and productivity.
the cure for never having to do a god damn
thing. it makes friends call other friends to
make sure everything is alright. it makes
guys mad and embarrassed about that. blood,
snot, chest pains, hope, desire, anger, money,
lust, hard on's, wet holes, love, tears and courage are
just things on the bathroom wall. it's where
the empty rolls of toilet paper are. it's where
the smiles went on holiday. it's why the mattress
is still in the living room. it is the great equalizer
to being too far away from your father.

- m.a. internicola

SCOTTY TWILIGHT

scott is 27 and an alcoholic. he drinks
ten plus kettle rocks a night and is a
shitty tipper. he sits alone and makes
strange noises. gets so drunk he calls
me an asshole and laughs. sometimes
he falls off the chair and i pick him up,
"it eases the pain."-he tells me. last night
he fell asleep on the bar and i had to wake
him up. i got the money out of his wallet
and paid the bill. gave myself a twenty
dollar tip. i walked him to the door and
he fell again next to a dog taking a shit.
i picked him up and brushed him off best
i could. he stood against the window for
ten minutes. he said he was miserable. i told
him he was what he was and i locked the
door behind me. scott wound up at the wrong
apartment banging on the door. the guy who
lived there opened it up, punched him in the face
and called the cops. scotty twilight spent the
night at st. vincent's. i only serve him light
beer from now on.

- m.a. internicola

THE CUNT

she lived in queens and was into s & m.
she talked without taking a breath.
said she worked out all the time but she still had a rump.
blondie and madonna were her hero's.
she was an actor and a dancer and a flute player
but she was 26 and hosting at a restaurant for
nine bucks an hour.

she spoke spanish with a stranger
and annoyed the shit out of everyone.
i told her i had a foot fetish.
she said she hadn't had sex in a year and a half
and looked like uma thurman.
hated when people said that.

her name was shannon and she was a cunt.
the only time she shut up was when i asked
about her living in spain but only because
she couldn't back up her bullshit.

where were you i asked.

what do you mean?

where'd you go?

all over in high school she said.

yeah i told her.

there's got to be an easier way.
gotta be but i still took her out for a drink after
work down bleeker just because i liked the way she said my name.
my dick thought she was cute too.
the owner bought us a round and she talked
about his dog's balls missing or dog pussy
or something dumb like that.
i left her there after i finished my second drink.

- m.a. internicola

RIVALS

mona lisa’s step sister is a two bit slut
she drives an escalade
money makes her horny
she shoots fire out of her mouth
nicknamed her snatch the piranha
she sleeps on nails like a circus freak
pisses and shits herself regularly
does tricks with quarters
and hates her grandma
she is influenced by ten year old candy pop
bitch even knows the words
i took her to a club last wednesday
entertainment industry function
she wore a tight jean mini and her tits were hanging out
danced like she had palsy
even kissed a black midget when she thought i wasn’t looking
and stole the tip jar from behind the bar for a joke
i rubbed my hard on on her big ass for two hours
she went to the can
and i’m still waiting for her to come back
we’re self destructive rivals you know
a week later, my vodka and that crazy lady
is all i have to hold on
for.

- m.a. internicola

SHADOW MAN OR RICO THE ROCK

took rico to a strip club for his birthday
and got him a lap dance. he seemed into it.
ronnie dates girls off the internet.
match dot com. nerve dot com. craigslist. the onion. the village voice
and time out new york. he has an asian fetish.
takes two out a week off the things. he's got hairy bush 70's porno.
girl scout cookies and gum in his fridge. he loves pussy but never gets any.
ronnie's the kind of man who'll get divorced three to six times in his life.
he'll never fully know what love is. he's not capable of showing
that side. he dresses for shit and hates his boring job.
won't make any money
either. he likes me though. calls me five fucking times a week asking
what's going on. i never call him back. because of men like this
women will always have the upper hand. they agree to be treated like shit.
a guy like this makes it hell for the straight man.
they want every man to be the rock.

- m.a. internicola

SHIT JOBS

tito was a bad drunk. wore designer
clothes mostly and drugged his girlfriend,
now his wife and mother of his child,
to sleep just to get her off his back.
he worked for viacom selling something.
he was a salesman. he had side action and
wished he was an actor. i met him through
that asshole jerry i used to work with. that
fuckers old lady left a message that she was
moving out. he never got it. last sunday he
was sitting on a chair smoking a j watching
the game when she showed up with her
parents and a moving truck. poor son of a
bitch. he says he's a writer but he sells ad
space for some skin mag. neither one of them
are what i would call a friend.

THE PATH NOBODY KNOWS

i don't know any writers
really. i know kids who want to write,
who try to write,
who shouldn't be writing.
the circle is small.
doesn't seem justified with the amount of books in space.
one time i met a woman in a book store
who said it took her twelve years to finish
her novel and that was only the first draft.
i see poets on broadway jumping
around and showboatin' how tough
it is but i'm not sure if they're suffering.
real suffering doesn't connect to anybody but yourself.
fact is i don't want to meet any writers.
they can't be in my head or in my room
so what's the fucking difference.
i don't want to join a book club
or take classes with house wives or rich kids.
don't want to help others learn how to
send the shit out or clap at poetry readings
when i'm really not feeling it. can't say i'll
have much in common with a published writer either.
fuck if they want to come back to the private hell
and give me an opinion about what's going on.
i feel no bond with anybody there.
i respect the solitude and significance of the craft too much to care about
anybody but me. if that sounds selfish get used to it.
spit farther than anybody you know.
that's how i know it has to be.

- m.a. internicola

GETTING FIRED

i've been fired from almost every job i
ever had. it's always the same. you can
feel it coming. the manager is usually
a prick. the owner doesn't talk to anyone.
you know it's not your fault. your just
in another spot where you weren't supposed
to be in the first place. they make the biggest
production about it, as if they're taking
everything from you. sometimes i just
don't show up and they never call to see
if something happened. they just forget
about you and get a replacement. some pull the
rug out from underneath you unexpectedly.
those one's kill because that's usually the time
when rent is due. some take the time to tell
you your a good person but you just didn't
work out. i've never been let down nicely
or laid off with a package. i've never had a
good job like that. those probably feel like
breaking up with somebody. getting fired is
what happens when you have something
better in your life than just paying the rent.
it means your supposed to be doing something
else. i feel sorry for the people who just stick
with it miserable. you spend more time with
these folks than you do the people you care
about. love what you do. paying your dues is
something else. otherwise, it's the biggest
fucking waste of time on the planet.

- m.a. internicola


FLUFF

no matter how cold it gets in new york
i know the road is out there somewhere.
i can't see what's next in my life.
it's just a place i find myself
every once in a while.
i walk by girls hoping for a
smile but they just keep on walking.
the scales are uneven.
i walk for miles and watch
people walk dogs or hold hands on dates.
i stare inside cabs looking for one person
in particular and i imagine me reading
this thing in front of strangers
someday and while hipsters ring off words
that leave the room higher and he's
got on some special leather jacket
that means he lives below 14th
i'm still here talking about my
sari sucking dick or me jerking off to 1980 porno
because there's really nothing left to do.
there's been talk about going off to st. thomas
come january but if i don't get some cash together
i'll end up killing myself at her place
of work because that will ruin everything
from there and i don't want to scare you,
doll at the third chair from the left.
i wanted to give my life to her
in a different way but i can't walk single file
and i can't listen to fluff and i smoke
too much and i fucked so many women
i lost count but i want to be honest with you before
you fall in love with me and you will.
there can't be any other way to say these things
from here.
look at me. look at me. listen to my voice.
there are a hundred things i could say to
make it right but i could always
fuck it up with one single sentence in
a matter of
sec
o
nds.

- m.a. internicola