poetry by j matthew waters

Four 20 Buzz Cut

It’s April 20 1985
and I’ve got nothing
to write home about

I’m down to less
than a few grams
separating sterile seeds
Budweiser serving tray
[purchased once upon a time
in Saint Louis Missouri]
positioned loosely on my lap

And now here I am
pretending I’m this hot
shot pharmacist
prescribing my own remedies
to whatever it is
that ails me

In the meanwhile
rock and roll music continues
to play on FM radio

april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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