Shark Smack Redemption
In this corner
we have two junkies
(clutchin their insides,
achin for a fix)
And in this corner
a dealer and his flunkie
(carryin’ with pride
the primo mix)
Gentlemen
Come out bargaining
C’mon, Mister Bang
don’t keep us hangin
Last week was a deal
a downright steal
Yeah, that was last week
Now it’s changed
replies Mr. Silk Suit
Buddy carries the loot
Have mercy, Bang
I need it badder’n bad
Cantcha see I’m dyin
One cringe away from cryin
Tell you what, Jake, says Bang
Remember your girl
That blonde was right rooty
and she sure got the booty
You want her, she’s yours
She’ll do what I ask
Just give us a taste
‘fore we go to waste
(Scans the room in panic
Isn’t it romantic?
He motions for Jill
to join in the thrill)
Mr. Bang offers three
One for him,
one for his co-horse
Third to prime “First Course”
Go on now, Jill
I’ll see you back here
Just give Mr. Bang
a little that thang
But Jill shakes her head
Tells him she’s not for trade.
You can’t redeem this girl
like Green Stamps for a whirl.
Off go Mr. Bang and ass-
istant to find other buyers
No jack, No Jill for Jake
just sweats and a bellyache
No redemption
Smack preemption
Simply two losers
who, tonight, will be boozers
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse Poets, Victoria Slotto wanted a piece that describes our passions. I give you the opposite, in a way. I’m still fascinated by how far people will go to get high, to self-medicate, and that much further away from love, from God, from peace. I have known women who would give their bodies for the sake of a fix for themselves and their old man. In the Old Daze, I could have witnessed a scene very much like this, when it was LA and everyone thought they were immortal. Then a junkie died in my lap, and I saw things differently indeed. Peace, Amy
Dark Voyage
Another dark alley
Why aren’t there ever any
light alleys? she quirks to herself
She waits for the next john to be sexed
Pawns her body for a fix
Used to be kicks
First the hash pipe
Upgraded to Opium 5.0
The real deal, the needle
Heroin
Looks like a smear of poop on foil but
once it’s lit, it’s hit and
she isn’t worth shit
Heroin, a nightmare cannibal picnic
sliding down the clever beanstalk
into the tar pits for a long slick sick soak
Heroin. She’s nodding, her mind
smolders with visions conjured from
the greasy plank decks of the U.S.S. Sheol
She forgets the mess under her dress and
presses her mind against a wall of sounds
When she wakes, her stomach will ache
She’ll john once more to score
to black it out
to empty the chasm
already scraped bare
The addict: A mind forever voyaging
through strange seas of thought, alone
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image: Wikipedia Commons
Kerry at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads wanted us to write using a line from a William Wordsworth poem, since today would have been his 243rd birthday. The Wordsworth line I chose was, “A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.” This is how I see many addicts: isolated, caught in a foreign place (even if it’s his/her home town), and always wondering. The “aloneness” of the line grabbed me by the ear and said, “Listen!” And so I did. And then I picked up my pencil. This is also for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United… proud to be a member! Peace, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 