Incomepoop

This one’s for me, I guess, but I have

to write it anyway.

I never cared about money because 

my family wasn’t worried about it.

There was too much else to contend

with: insanity, alcohol, that kept me

busy playing dodgeball just to survive.

I’m poor now, but I almost made it to

the finish line while avoiding the rat 

race which I’m proud of, now waiting 

for a safe to fall on my head like in a 

cartoon, or a hail of bullets from the

Mexican SWAT team because I’m too

gringo or what have you…it’s the 

suspense that’s killing me if you must

know. I think of Aubrey Plaza whose

husband killed himself a year ago and

what she’s going through…how do you

continue making money on your humor/

how can she even giggle anymore?

I continue writing without the money

which is a one-eighty from her point of

view, as I see it, because I do, not that

funny, but I need to see what comes out

of the old cabeza, wouldn’t you? 

Fuck the money.

(If it was a safe, it would have hit you.)