A Night in Spokane

Three hundred miles away from my cares

and my cares, admittedly, aren’t very stressful.

But. It is amazing what being in a strange place

will do for your carelessness.

I’ve got a case of the Ha-ha-has

and I’m ready to talk to anyone

about anything.

There’s a short man with glasses,

a ponytail down to his belt,

a beard down to his nipples,

and a belly down to his crotch

stacking glasses in the little kitchen next to the bar,

which is in an old radiator garage.

Who needs to care?

70-some-odd years and each of us

goes the same way.

Why is everyone so frantic so often

about so many

insignificant

things?

More often than not,

more often than I’d like to admit,

the answer is

money.

Y’know, I’ve got some money

in a savings account

and my income is steady and enough.

I’m blessed. Now

say I suddenly have

a stabbing pain in my side,

my gall bladder goes out,

or I feel tired all the time, then

it’d be a different, dire story.

I might be freaking out.

Oh well.

70-some-odd years

and none of that would matter anymore.

All of my debts

forgiven

to the detriment of the US taxpayer.

But I don’t know them or owe them

anything,

and most of their pennies are going towards

blowing people up overseas

anyways, so

let’s lift a glass

and toast

to all our cares,

the ones that truly matter

and let’s drown

all the ones that don’t

and let’s learn

to live lives that

every second

truly matter to us.