Stoner X (Circa 2001)

14 Apr

Stumbling out of bed at a time no earlier than noon,
it was easy to forget what day it was.
Every day seemed like a weekend to him
a blur of carb holding
pipe cleaning
resin burning
fast food eating
(in)activity.

Push play on the stereo
raise the rim on the toilet seat
let the the pubic hairs fall where they may
like fallen leaves on a lawn,
coating the orange streak developing
within the cylinder.

The grime works its way along the corners of the walls
bathroom mirror foggy streaked
by errant flings of toothpaste and zit puss.

Dirty dingy mildewed towels
Dirty dingy mildewed tub
no clean underwear
bare beneath the jeans
tie dye t-shirt
Birkenstocks
hemp necklace

Unkempt habits make it
impossible to live with those
who bitch
who nag
who complain
who whine.

Can’t find his keys
beneath the dresser
on the bed
nor the top of the fridge.

But there it was
hidden in the banana seat
where he was cleaning out his bowl
the night before.

Stomach growling
too stoned to cook
no clean dishes anywhere
milk expired
greenish mold inhabiting the loaf of bread.

He calls a friend
loads a bowl
heads out the door
to hang with their high school pals
introduced to each other
through a mutual friend
who reeked of a sweet skunky smell.

Exotic names bandied about
flavors savored
scents explored
with different highs
in a town full of mutual circles
of interest
Venn diagrams
and coincidence.

A sandwich for lunch
a nugget for dessert
big hits,
sore lungs,
watery eyes
raw throats
as they phuck off to Phish and 311
playing “pass the pipe, snake the lighter”
greenies for the newbie
shrouds of clouds
mushroom smoke
hold it til they can’t no mo’
the dank smells
bloodshot cornea
and dirty bong water.

Parent’s money well spent
time well wasted
discussing future plans
of music, shows and travels
watching the people
out on the porch
wondering how could life possibly
be more than waiting for something to happen.

Still so much time left
burning it like a butane
to a fresh bowl
comfortable in their inactivity
until the sun goes down
and its time to go inside
and roll another number
for the on the way back home.

~Edward Austin Robertson

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